The subject of aging seems to fascinate my daughter and son and their spouses. Most particularly,
…my aging. And my guy’s.
I haven’t figured out why. Perhaps it’s because of my upcoming birthday on the Ides of March.
They seem to expect some kind of terror in our response to their teasing, asking if we have “chair rails” on our new stairs – ha ha, and telling us that perhaps my guy is eligible to use the town’s “senior center.”
Never mind that both of us are crazy busy in our careers and our social life.
All they see is a number.
But they don’t see the forest for the trees. The trees they view are another birthday, another gray hair, a Medicare card in the not-too-distant future.
The forest they miss is that leaving middle age is no loss.
Leaving middle age is a mystical release of responsibilities and worries, and a determination to not see a birthday as entering a winter of gradual decline, but instead stepping into a spring of new discoveries, of freedoms, and of staring at our kids’ tired, 3-kids in 5 years, 1-big-mortgage faces and saying,
“ah, but now is the best time of our lives!”
So, we just blow away their teasing and, like everyone, no matter the age, have our cake, and eat it too!