Written on Tuesday, June 14th. Posted Sunday, June 19th
Measurement of time is a curious thing. We used to measure it by the date we wrote on our checks (remember those?) and the dates we wrote at the top of our papers in school. It always took a while before our fingers would remember to use the correct year, even more so when we switched over from the old century to the new century, and the two-digit shorthand we'd used for so long somehow just didn't feel like enough.
It's hard to believe that it has been sixteen years since those two digits rolled over to snake-eyes. Years ago, I calculated that I would be thirty-seven in the year 2000. And I remember thinking how incredibly old that would be. ("I'm only thirty-seven. I'm not old!") And how there was so much time before that happened.
Sixteen years from twenty-one, and now sixteen years further on. You do the math. But it's just math. It's not how I feel. It's not how I think.
At work, I look around at all the people and think that they are so much older than me, even the ones whose hair is so much darker than mine. They act older. They act like responsible adults. They act like the things they are doing are making a big difference in the world. And, of course, they are. They are creating wonderful software and hardware that goes into airplanes and makes them safer and better. And I suppose I'm part of that world, too. But it doesn't feel like it. It feels like every day at work is theater, a play that someone is putting on, and I play my part and say my lines like I'm supposed to do. But it is not real. Real is what happens after I walk out of the office and climb into my car and drive out of the parking lot. Real is going home and being with my family. Work is just a dream, a dream that happens when the sun is out. It doesn't really mean anything because who in their right mind would ever think that I'm grown up enough to handle responsibility like that?
Is it the same way for everyone? Do you all feel so much younger than your age would indicate? It's much harder when your body starts falling apart; being reminded of your physical frailties have have a huge effect on your state of mind. And there are days when the years creep up on me, turning my mind and my attitude into a wrinkled prune of "get off my lawn"-ness.
The cure for me is to spend as much time as possible with the youngsters in the Sunday School at church, singing and teaching and reading and studying and learning and acting as goofy as it is possible to get away with. It is the saving grace of children: they don't care how stupid you act, so long as they know you are there to take care of them, to play with them, to keep them safe.
Today was a good day. Time at home with the family, time on the phone with dearly loved people, time to forget the stress and anxiety of Life for a little while and focus on what really matters.
And cake!
Measurement of time is a curious thing. We used to measure it by the date we wrote on our checks (remember those?) and the dates we wrote at the top of our papers in school. It always took a while before our fingers would remember to use the correct year, even more so when we switched over from the old century to the new century, and the two-digit shorthand we'd used for so long somehow just didn't feel like enough.
It's hard to believe that it has been sixteen years since those two digits rolled over to snake-eyes. Years ago, I calculated that I would be thirty-seven in the year 2000. And I remember thinking how incredibly old that would be. ("I'm only thirty-seven. I'm not old!") And how there was so much time before that happened.
Sixteen years from twenty-one, and now sixteen years further on. You do the math. But it's just math. It's not how I feel. It's not how I think.
At work, I look around at all the people and think that they are so much older than me, even the ones whose hair is so much darker than mine. They act older. They act like responsible adults. They act like the things they are doing are making a big difference in the world. And, of course, they are. They are creating wonderful software and hardware that goes into airplanes and makes them safer and better. And I suppose I'm part of that world, too. But it doesn't feel like it. It feels like every day at work is theater, a play that someone is putting on, and I play my part and say my lines like I'm supposed to do. But it is not real. Real is what happens after I walk out of the office and climb into my car and drive out of the parking lot. Real is going home and being with my family. Work is just a dream, a dream that happens when the sun is out. It doesn't really mean anything because who in their right mind would ever think that I'm grown up enough to handle responsibility like that?
Is it the same way for everyone? Do you all feel so much younger than your age would indicate? It's much harder when your body starts falling apart; being reminded of your physical frailties have have a huge effect on your state of mind. And there are days when the years creep up on me, turning my mind and my attitude into a wrinkled prune of "get off my lawn"-ness.
The cure for me is to spend as much time as possible with the youngsters in the Sunday School at church, singing and teaching and reading and studying and learning and acting as goofy as it is possible to get away with. It is the saving grace of children: they don't care how stupid you act, so long as they know you are there to take care of them, to play with them, to keep them safe.
Today was a good day. Time at home with the family, time on the phone with dearly loved people, time to forget the stress and anxiety of Life for a little while and focus on what really matters.
And cake!
2 comments:
It feels that way to me sometimes, too. I definitely have a problem seeing myself as the older person in a group, as I often now am. Someone who is in their 30's or 40's will look at my graying hair and rotundity, and treat me with some kind of deference... it always takes me by surprise. Then I remember, "Oh, yeah, I'm 51 now..."
I still feel like a skinny girl who could run 10 miles. Then I look in the mirror at my hideous hair, my sallow complexion, the extra 50 pounds, and am reminded that I'm aging. Mirrors are not my friend at this stage in my life. If I could just stay away from them, I could feel a lot younger and energetic. My knees creak, my eyes are weak, and my bladder leaks. But as long as I don't look in the mirror, I can pretend I am still 25, or even 35, which wasn't such a bad age for me. The mindset is definitely a problem though. I'm now one of the older women, who is supposed to be sharing her wisdom with the younger women. I got nuthin. In 2020 I'll turn 60. Hopefully I'll have a better vision by then.
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