I remember the summer my parents turned 40. My sister and I gleefully hung an “Over the Hill” banner in the front window, put rocking chairs on their birthday cake and gave them buttons that said “Middle Age is Marvelous”. My 16 year old self thought all of this was hilarious, but my current 39 year old self is less amused.
I am fully aware that I’m getting older. I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies when I get out of bed in the morning. There are lines on my face that didn’t used to be there. There are a lot of pop culture things out there I am too old/ uncool/ etc to understand or enjoy. A short list includes Justin Bieber, Jersey Shore, the Twilight series, and anything involving a Kardashian. I also know that most people half my age don’t watch much on the Food Channel, don’t follow NASA on Twitter and wouldn’t agree with me that the music from the 80’s is clearly 100 times better than today’s Top 40 offerings (although I will admit that I like Katy Perry quite a lot).
I did a quick Google search on “When does Middle Age Start” and found answers ranging anywhere from 25 (yes really) to 50. The most common answer was 40 so I guess my sister and I had it right after all. Darn.
I guess the bigger question is “Why do I care?” Why when most things are going very well for me does the number of years I’ve been alive bother me so much?
Answer: I Don’t Know. Not a great answer I admit but it’s the only one I have. I don’t actually hit 40 until December so I still have some time to figure it out. How well I will do remains to be seen.