A Wrinkle In Time
The random problems with my Internet connection persist. Right now, I am publishing this from school since Gogle is one of the sites that works intermittently. I have no idea how to fix this, but I also know I'm not really supposed to be using Blogger from here. If I can't remedy this, I'm afraid updates to the blog might end up being inconsistent as well. Help, please!
Although it's is still five months away the simple fact remains; I will be turning thirty this year.
Expediting the process is the fact that I have friends who have already turned thirty, are just about to turn thirty, or are in the midst of planning big parties for the big 3-0.
When I was a kid I laughed off all that "age is a state of mind hogwash". My parents were much older and they didn't seem old to me, still don't actually. Just this weekend, however, I cringed at a line uttered in Something's Gotta Give. Amanda Peet was talking to Jack Nicholson about how he never dated a woman over the age of 30.
Do people (not counting Jack Nicholson) still really think that way? Do I think that way? Is 30 really the beginning of the black plague years?
After all, I don't feel any differently now then I did when I was 25, or even 15. The proof is in the company I keep. My Space reminds us that former middle school connections are just one click away, while Soap Net lets me relive my youth every weekday afternoon at noon to the tune of 1991's Another World. One look at a former classmate's face or an old school soap storyline and I'm instantly transported to another place and time.
The fact of the matter is that time does indeed march on, despite our best efforts to stop it. At twenty-nine, I feel I am still enjoying the prime of my youth. Still, that doesn't change the look on a twenty-five year old's face when they hear you are almost thirty. It's just a few measly years, but to them, it feels like a lifetime.
Working with children everyday reminds me that when we are younger, we have no idea of what is old and what's not. Every year the children ask me my age and I love to make a game out of avoiding giving them an answer, just because. Last year I started giving them the year I was born and letting them figure out just how old I was. Without any help, you'd be surprised just how hard a task this was for them. Regardless I've heard everything from 18 to 52. This is because to a kid there are no degrees of old. Everyone is old in their eyes. It isn't until you are "old" that you see that your former ideas of old are really not old at all.
It's not so much that thirty is old, it's what the age itself symbolizes. Even if you don't feel different or look different, you know that different is waiting for you, just around the corner. And sometimes just knowing something is going to happen somehow, someday, is all the ammunition you need to plant the seeds of worry. But as we all know worrying too much eventually takes its toll on your body, mainly in the form of W-R-I-N-K-L-E-S.
Recently I started noticing my very first wrinkle. Contrary to popular belief, it's not nearly as exciting as other "firsts" like the first time I got a Cabbage Patch Kid, drove a car or went off to college. Yet somehow, this first has managed to leave more than just a physical impression on me.
Now I know if you saw me you'd laugh because the change is subtle. The line is between my two eyes and it's not always prominent. Everyone gets lines between their eyes when they are creating certain expressions, young, old and in between. The difference is that decidedly younger people get those lines just when they are expressing themselves. The rest of us know that eventually the lines decide to grace your face permanently, like a tattoo of thought for all the world to see.
The fact of the matter is, I've never considered myself a vain person. I always knew I was going to age "someday". But I'll be honest. I quite enjoy looking a number of years younger than I actually am. I like the fact that I'm short and on dress down days have been mistaken for one of my third grade students. I relish the fact that I still get carded from time to time when ordering a drink. I savor that the act of taking off my makeup is not as major as deconstructing the Sistine Chapel.
In isolation, all that held true for me at nineteen still holds true for me at twenty-nine. It isn't until you place me next to a true, present day nineteen year old that I feel that any time has passed. That's when reality hits me and I realize I have lived a lot in the last ten years. I recognize the fact that sometimes you gotta take me and shake me like that stubborn passenger in the Airplane movies to make me realize, Janet, no matter how hard you click your heels, it's no longer 1987.
I now realize the next few years of my life are going to be a humbling crossroads. I can try to fight it off with anti-wrinkle creams and Botox treatments, or I can just accept the simple fact that we all get older sooner or later. I can take comfort in the fact that I've treated my body well for the first thirty years and hopefully fate (and good genes) will see me through the next. After all, we just celebrated my grandmother's 90th birthday a month ago. The woman still lives on her own, has a mind of her own and is completely independent.
If that doesn't make me look forward to being an honorary "Golden Girl" one day, nothing will.
Although it's is still five months away the simple fact remains; I will be turning thirty this year.
Expediting the process is the fact that I have friends who have already turned thirty, are just about to turn thirty, or are in the midst of planning big parties for the big 3-0.
When I was a kid I laughed off all that "age is a state of mind hogwash". My parents were much older and they didn't seem old to me, still don't actually. Just this weekend, however, I cringed at a line uttered in Something's Gotta Give. Amanda Peet was talking to Jack Nicholson about how he never dated a woman over the age of 30.
Do people (not counting Jack Nicholson) still really think that way? Do I think that way? Is 30 really the beginning of the black plague years?
After all, I don't feel any differently now then I did when I was 25, or even 15. The proof is in the company I keep. My Space reminds us that former middle school connections are just one click away, while Soap Net lets me relive my youth every weekday afternoon at noon to the tune of 1991's Another World. One look at a former classmate's face or an old school soap storyline and I'm instantly transported to another place and time.
The fact of the matter is that time does indeed march on, despite our best efforts to stop it. At twenty-nine, I feel I am still enjoying the prime of my youth. Still, that doesn't change the look on a twenty-five year old's face when they hear you are almost thirty. It's just a few measly years, but to them, it feels like a lifetime.
Working with children everyday reminds me that when we are younger, we have no idea of what is old and what's not. Every year the children ask me my age and I love to make a game out of avoiding giving them an answer, just because. Last year I started giving them the year I was born and letting them figure out just how old I was. Without any help, you'd be surprised just how hard a task this was for them. Regardless I've heard everything from 18 to 52. This is because to a kid there are no degrees of old. Everyone is old in their eyes. It isn't until you are "old" that you see that your former ideas of old are really not old at all.
It's not so much that thirty is old, it's what the age itself symbolizes. Even if you don't feel different or look different, you know that different is waiting for you, just around the corner. And sometimes just knowing something is going to happen somehow, someday, is all the ammunition you need to plant the seeds of worry. But as we all know worrying too much eventually takes its toll on your body, mainly in the form of W-R-I-N-K-L-E-S.
Recently I started noticing my very first wrinkle. Contrary to popular belief, it's not nearly as exciting as other "firsts" like the first time I got a Cabbage Patch Kid, drove a car or went off to college. Yet somehow, this first has managed to leave more than just a physical impression on me.
Now I know if you saw me you'd laugh because the change is subtle. The line is between my two eyes and it's not always prominent. Everyone gets lines between their eyes when they are creating certain expressions, young, old and in between. The difference is that decidedly younger people get those lines just when they are expressing themselves. The rest of us know that eventually the lines decide to grace your face permanently, like a tattoo of thought for all the world to see.
The fact of the matter is, I've never considered myself a vain person. I always knew I was going to age "someday". But I'll be honest. I quite enjoy looking a number of years younger than I actually am. I like the fact that I'm short and on dress down days have been mistaken for one of my third grade students. I relish the fact that I still get carded from time to time when ordering a drink. I savor that the act of taking off my makeup is not as major as deconstructing the Sistine Chapel.
In isolation, all that held true for me at nineteen still holds true for me at twenty-nine. It isn't until you place me next to a true, present day nineteen year old that I feel that any time has passed. That's when reality hits me and I realize I have lived a lot in the last ten years. I recognize the fact that sometimes you gotta take me and shake me like that stubborn passenger in the Airplane movies to make me realize, Janet, no matter how hard you click your heels, it's no longer 1987.
I now realize the next few years of my life are going to be a humbling crossroads. I can try to fight it off with anti-wrinkle creams and Botox treatments, or I can just accept the simple fact that we all get older sooner or later. I can take comfort in the fact that I've treated my body well for the first thirty years and hopefully fate (and good genes) will see me through the next. After all, we just celebrated my grandmother's 90th birthday a month ago. The woman still lives on her own, has a mind of her own and is completely independent.
If that doesn't make me look forward to being an honorary "Golden Girl" one day, nothing will.
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