Age is Just a Number?

They say age is just a number… but it is more than that, really.  With each decade, my experience with aging has deepened. In my teens, I couldn’t wait to be in my twenties, thinking that then people would take me seriously. By my mid-twenties I couldn’t even take myself seriously. When I turned thirty, I decided to tell everyone that I was 29 again. That was the age I gave when asked. I’m 29 again. By 32, I had started to enjoy my life and decided that if I was going to lie about my age, it should be a lie in my favor. So, I started telling people who had the nerve to ask, that I was almost 50. I never said I was 50 in my 30’s. I just said, almost 50, or pushing 50. I got loads of comments telling me how good I look, “for my age.” By the time I was 40, I decided that it was an insult to be told I look good “for my age.” I either look good, or I don't. My age has nothing to do with it, except that our society is obsessed with youth. By my mid-40’s I was owning every year, and to this day, people don’t believe me when I tell them I’m in my 50’s. My reply now is “Good genes and good skincare.” I’m just lucky to have inherited my skin from my mother, to have inherited a fast metabolism from my father, to have an internal need to be busy and moving. I’m not young, but I’m not old. I look younger than I am, but more importantly, I have a common experience in mid-life. I feel a lot younger than I am.

Back when I opened the salon, circa 2019, there was blue carpet everywhere. Probably installed in 1996, cornflower blue commercial grade carpet covered most of the floors. That carpet got pulled up and underneath, the carpet padding was glued directly to the concrete. I had a grand plan to do a faux leather floor treatment using Elmers glue and crumpled brown craft paper, which would then be coated with polyurethane to seal it. I got my supplies, and I got down on that dirty, damaged concrete floor, legs criss-crossed and I started to work. Four hours later, I had completed 1x10 feet of floor treatment. I leaned to the side to try to get myself in a position to stand up. I could not move my legs! I was just stuck. Sitting on the concrete, unable to shift myself onto my knees, I thought, okay you’ve gotta get up. You’re here alone, no one is around to pick you up. Just do it, woman! 20 minutes later, I was finally on my feet, hips aching like I had been in a car accident, shaking my head and reminding myself, I am not in my 20’s anymore, I can’t do this shit to myself! I made a few phone calls and went online and bought some luxury vinyl plank and had a gentleman install it for me the following week. All the while I reminded myself, I’m almost 50, I’m not 25 anymore. I’m almost 50, I’m not 25 anymore… like a mantra, justifying spending the money for the flooring to be done correctly.

All I can say is, aging is not for the faint of heart. It takes some gusto to navigate this stage of life. The great thing about looking and feeling young, is that I get a lot of attention from younger men. The terrible thing about looking and feeling young is that I get a lot of attention from younger men. They think I’m letting them down easy when I say, “My dude, I’m ten (or 12 or 15) years older than you.” I mean, really I could be some of these boys’ mama, which would make it weird for me on so many levels. They flatter me with their attention, but also, who has time to train these young guys? And who wants to be bothered anyway? I’m at the place in life where I could just as easily take a nap as go out to dinner. I will say, my confidence in my decisions and my career choices has soared, and I am very much looking forward to what the next decade has to offer me. Come what may, each decade has brought me something I have treasured. I have gained aches and pains and weird medications in my cabinet, but I have also gained self-awareness, wisdom and joy. I think that’s a fair trade. My 50’s are proving to me that I’m a badass, and I’m really intrigued to find out what my 60’s will teach me about myself. I don’t know if this is what they mean by aging gracefully. If it is, I am here for it. If they mean continuing to try to look as young as possible, covering my gray hair and wearing youthful clothes, but doing it with panache, then screw They. I’m going to wear my leggings every damn day, with a t-shirt and no bra, because why strap myself in? I’m letting my gray hair grow long and I don’t care who thinks it shouldn’t be. I’m going to eat the cookies and snacks and sleep when I want to sleep and stay up late if I want to stay up late. I’m going to smoke my cigarettes and drink my coffee and enjoy a steak every now and then. At this point, I’ve earned it. Age is just a number, so they say, but joy… that’s a lifetime achievement award.