A couple of weeks ago I was in a restaurant with my brother. He’s eleven years older than I am, and because of the age gap I’ve always kind of seen him as being part of a different generation. He took a slow look around the restaurant and then mused out loud that he was the oldest person there. Trying to be empathetic and kind, I made several comments about how awful that must feel for him.
He looked at me and shrugged. “You should know. You’re the second oldest person here.”
Any attempt to vehemently deny his accusation was frozen forever on my tongue as I turned and evaluated the other people in the room. My brother was right. Each and every one of those customers and waiters was younger than I. I had officially become a part of that older generation. I’m ashamed to admit it, but this was not the first time it’s happened.
I never used to think 40 was old. I simply used to perceive it as another year in the life.
Until I turned forty.
Suddenly I look around and everyone is younger than I am. My son’s school teacher was born fifteen years after I was. FIFTEEN YEARS! And I’m trusting her, a babe barely out of diapers, with my son’s education!
What about the doctors I always used to look up to? The ones who deserved respect not because they were doctors – but because their age demanded it. Now they’re all younger than I am. Even the ones who’ve spent years and years specializing. And what about professors? Aren’t they supposed to be old and grey? When did they start awarding PhDs to ten year olds anyway?
It’s not just other people making me feel every day of my forty and a half years.
Each morning I wake up and look in the mirror. The first thing I notice is the five new wrinkles around my eyes. I gave up telling myself they’re laugh lines when the laugh lines started laughing derisively. And those new gray hairs? The ones I used to pull out so no one would notice? If I continue pulling them out, people are going to start noticing big bald patches on my head. I won’t even mention sagging, drooping body parts. Suffice it to say, they are not pretty!
Yes, it’s tough to be forty. But you know what’s even tougher? The realization that today I am younger than I will ever be in the future. I have less wrinkles and gray hairs and sags and droops than I will have tomorrow.
Thankfully I have my heroines. I tend to age these eternally youthful looking women between 27 and 33. And so through them I can continue to be young. Yes, I may be living my life vicariously, but at least in my imagination and in my books I will never wake up to find another gray hair.
Jess
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Great blog. Fast approaching thirty seven—I still say I’m mid thirties dammit—I find myself more and more cringing at the young male actors. Yes they are cute, but they are so young! I feel guilty if look at them in a naughty way. Am I the only one lol?
Hi Jess
I was going to say age is just a number till I realized I’m old enough to be your mother (at least mathematically LOL). It’s okay. Reading my romance books keeps me young & as long as I can still play tennis, I’m happy whatever the number.
AWWW Jess, as someone who is rapidly sliding down the hill towards 50 I can honestly say I’m enjoying life way more now that I did 25 years ago. I agree that you are only as old as you feel and most days I feel about 30! As far as gray hair is concerned, I feel I earned everyone I have and usually I don’t bother with pulling them out or covering them over but for my sister’s wedding (she is 53 and remarrying after being a widow several years) I am going to get my hair dyed just because I want to. Think about it this way you have 40 years experience and you can write your 27-33 heroines and make them wise beyond their years. Love your books Jess and can’t wait to for the next one!
Oh, Eve… I confess, I am a Robert Pattinson fan, Big time. And the guy is young enough to me my son!
AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!
Jess
Mary… really? You are?
Well, then let me say I think you’d make a fantastic mom. Mathematically and emotionally. And, I bet I’d be a brilliant tennis player too.
Jess
Sharon, congrats for your sister’s wedding. Hope it’s a wonderful happy affair, and I bet your hair looks awesome on the day.
I confess, I colored my hair a couple of times to hide the gray, but those suckers are the first ones to shake off the color. I’ve stopped trying. LOL.
BTW – Thanx for your lovely compliment.
Jess
‘Sallright, lass; you’re not as old as my parents – they’re in their LATE FIFTIES
Snort.
Tez, you crack me up.
I’m sure your parents would be delighted to read your comment.
Jess
hey girl dont worry here i am in mo and 54 and i dont have any contact with my kid and the hair i have none
i lost all my to aleopecia and they said i am the only
one here in mo to lose it at my age and then
i cannot get wig so i will go with out hair for 2years
till it grows
Desiree
Oh, my. I am so sorry to hear that.
I may complain a lot about my gray hairs, but I guess I’m lucky I have them.
Hugs,
Jess
Loved this post! I’m hitting 40 next year and I’ve been dreading it for several years now. 30 didn’t bother me. 40 is about to kill me. I have to admit, though, your comment about turning 40 and being younger than you ever will again…well, this didn’t help me with my “path to 40” whoas!!!
Lexi,
I just have to keep telling myself I’m in the prime of my life now, and I need to enjoy it.
And it’s not sooooooo bad being 40. I promise.
;D
Jess
Am I in my 40’s?
See, Jess, the real moral of the story is that before your brother pointed it out, you were unaware that you were, well, old.
Me and Peter Pan are best buds, you see. Mind over matter. And no, I don’t mean the ‘If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter’ saying, I mean if you’re totally oblivious, like me, you too can be forever young.