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Youth Is Wasted on the Young
All the trees turned green, overnight. It’s like the world changed and I missed it, and I’m not sure if it always happened this way or if time just moves more rapidly now that I started to pay attention.
I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately, as I tend to at this part of the year, but this now it’s all hitting me a lot harder. In a few weeks, I turn 35.
Okay, Ricochetti, you may all snicker and taunt me for my angst, but for some reason this birthday feels ominous and scary like no other before it.
I am moving toward that part of life where I am supposed to be grown up, but I feel myself resisting it with every inch of me, refusing to give up on my youth.
Because, honestly, I just found it.
My mother always said I was born 45. A serious child that hated to play and refused the company of others, I kept myself to myself and enjoyed the company of books and horses on the idyllic farm where I grew up. I didn’t have boyfriends, I didn’t climb trees or learn to ski or put firecrackers in birdhouses just to see what happened. Some would say I was dull, but I never suffered boredom, because the world inside was always better than the alternative and never disappointed, even once.
But now, at 34 and 11 months I see the world so clearly. After a marriage and a divorce, two perfect children, and many lives lived, I no longer fear the things that used to hold me back. It took me longer to get here, I guess, and now I want to stay, because I’m not ready to be done with this yet. I’m not ready to stop being a fool.
In my mind, 35 means I should be someplace I’m not even close to. I should own a house and have a “real” job (according to my father that means being a doctor, lawyer, or professor) and a pension plan that does not include vague ideas of being independently rich and fabulous.
I am turning 35 and I am panicking. I’m not a grownup. Hey, I’m not even close. Through some weird Benjamin Button-style aging, I started at a mental age of 45 and am now sitting steady at around 23. Unfortunately the mirror disagrees and I spend more time than I should exfoliating and moisturizing to make the outside match the irresponsible Prince-fan that still rules my emotional realm.
I still haven’t decided if I’m a smoker yet, and I never got around to climbing a tree. I still occasionally drink too much at a party and I always dance in my underwear while vacuuming the kitchen floor. I haven’t got a driver’s license and I sometimes make burgers and eat them in bed while watching old episodes of “The Wire.” I don’t think grownups do stuff like that, and I’m not ready to give it up.
I know it’s not all bad, this whole aging thing. I feel things now like I never did. I smell the baby blanket of my now 13-year-old son and I cry when the emotion and memories rush over me like wildfire. I experience every morning with a strange sense of urgency and gratitude. I love more than I ever did, I ache more than I thought was possible. Life is vivid now, and unfortunately with that its progression is as palpable as the colors of the newly turned trees.
My mother lost four sisters to cancer, and they all died before the age of 40. I never used to think about that, but I think about it now. I was an unhappy child, but somewhere happiness found me, and ironically my life now feels like walking through a dodgy neighborhood with my pockets stuffed with pearls. It’s strange, really, because when I was younger, I complained about everything; now that I have much less, I feel I have it all. Aging reminds me of all the pearls I have yet to pick from the bottom of this glorious ocean.
With this age-related crisis, I turn to you, fellow Ricochetti, as I’ve done before with questions big and small. Let’s call it crowdsourcing in lieu of therapy, as this is much more fun than paying someone 300 bucks to sit and scribble while I talk to myself.
Tell me, in your opinion, what gets better with age and what is off limits? Am I still allowed to be foolish; am I still allowed to get a little bit drunk and dance all night? What is it to be a grownup, what should one have accomplished to earn that title and claim that throne, and what do you guys do when the passing of time hits you in the middle of the night like the final chorus of “Bohemian Rhapsody?”
With love and some anxiety,
Annika
34 years, 11 months and 8 days old.
Published in General
Lots of things get better with age.
family
music
good food
sex
especially sex
Dont sweat 35. The best years are to come.
I know this, being 59 years, 11 months and 20 days old.
Or is it 21 days? This is a leap year.
The fact that you have 4 aunts that died of cancer before they were 40 puts a completely different focus on your letter. I too hope you live a long, joyful, happy life and grow to love again, have more beautiful children if you choose and experience the ultimate joy of watching your grandchildren grow and prosper. But the cancer part of your family history makes it impossible for me to dismiss or minimize your angst. I just hope that you never have to face that medical possibly. And that 35 comes and goes with 45, 55, 65, etc..
You’re in the prime – such a great age.
What gets better is that you stop caring so much about what other people think, and start feeling more confident about making the choices that are best for you!
Enjoy!
By the way, I ran a marathon at 40. You’re still on the uphill swing!
Time. For us grown-ups it does seem exponentially faster. I often wonder if it is because we feel responsible to accomplish ‘things’ with our time, more so than when we were very young.
The longer we experience time, the more valuable it becomes to us, and the quicker it leaks through the cracks in our lives.
We feel the minutes tick by, one to the next, with so many opportunities and options.
Maye the only should of being a grown up is to use our precious resource of time to make something, anything, good in the world.
We chose what we do with our time; how we spend it; where we use it; and with whom we share it and give it.
Love your children, family and friends.
Laugh a lot, be foolish in regards to inconsequential things, get a little bit drunk, (just a little), vacuum in your underwear, bag up the anxiety and sing any songs you like, as loud and as often as you like.
Just leave this world and teeming humanity better for your time here.
I’ll be quite a bit older than 35 in 1 month and five days, but 35 is a good year, not to worry!
I’m 48. I pass people half my age on half-marathons, and I mock them as I cruise by, saying “That’s the BEST you can do, kid?”.
Then a 72 year-old passes me, and I shut up.
I can relate, though not to not climbing trees or avoiding winter sports.
I will hit 35 soon enough myself – and yes, I believe I should have a “real” job like doctor, lawyer, or professor, not the rather odd jobs I have now. And yes, I don’t really believe being a wife and a mother is a job – I mean, I accept it is for other people, but not for me (since I was raised to believe that good girls become wives and mothers and doctors, lawyers, or professors) :-)
Can also relate.
It’s really not too late for this!
Then you are very fortunate! Or you are doing something right. Or more likely both :-)
With age comes a comfort with circumspection and a freedom in one’s choices, especially for leisure. Maturity counsels to leave the fool with his opinions, knowing that changing a mind is often next to impossible. In leisure, watching TV is admittedly fun and I no longer feel I have to be constantly reading nonfiction and learning something new. I still do, but balance it with generous doses of television, movies, and fiction, especially good literature. I read and reread Dickens, Austen, and Robert Louis Stevenson because it’s like the comfort of revisiting old friends. And I’ve probably read Julian Fellowes’ book Past Imperfect eight or ten times because it’s brilliant, observant, and one of the finest novels written in the last decade. You care more for what really matters and less for insignificant details. I would rather keep a friend than win a political argument because joy is more valuable to me than hollow rhetorical victories. They say with age comes wisdom, but perhaps calm comfort and humility are simply masquerading as wisdom.
Whatever the case, Happy 35th. You’ve at least half a life left to go. Enjoy it (from the description of your vacuuming habits, it sounds like you are!).
Lovely Annika,
You are very grown up. Your mother knew. We are living in a society that wants no one to grow up. They instead reduce life down to a formula that an insurance actuarial can compute and then they infantilize everyone.
There is one rock and it is Gd. You already know that too. Grab onto the tree of life. Let it carry you to your goals.
Regards,
Jim
Ah,to be 35 again!
Just don’t let other people tell you who to be. Be you.
And, I once walked a half marathon by accident. I was on a new trail, and I said, “Self, I wonder how long this trail is?”
Turned out it was 6.5 miles and my car was parked at the other end.
When you’re 50, you just have random thoughts like that.
And your kids don’t complain about it.
When sixteen one was called forty and that was with respect which one found odd. Truly, by that time one had climbed enough trees had a limb or two sawn or broke beneath helped. As well as reading volumes made from those trees added to the learning process.
Fold in the old saying, ” The Lord protects foolish children” and then count yourself fortunate. (Should that appy).
Perhaps by 35 you have an idea who you are, a good thing.
Congrats, then again, the time to remiss and trouble yourself is still far away.
This is what happens when you’re afflicted with a melancholic temperament.
Not that I would know anything about that.
“Avonmore”
As it was
In the beginning
Before the darkness
And the fall
I lay my head
On your heartbeat
Cloaking the dagger
Of your soul
I want a love that’s never ending
Through all the thunder and the rain
But there’s no sense in pretending
I know I’ll never fall in love again
What if you wake up
One morning
And you’re living in a world
That’s hard to face
What if the good times
Turn to sorrow
What if a stranger
Takes your place
I want a love that’s never ending
Through all the thunder and the rain
But there’s no sense in pretending
I know I’ll never fall in love again
I want a love that’s never ending
Through all the thunder and the rain
But there’s no sense in pretending
I know I’ll never fall in love again
We’ll cling
Together
In the moonlight
Burning the river
Into gold
Count all the minutes
Then the hours
Until your heart turns cold
I want a love that’s never ending
Through all the thunder and the rain
But there’s no sense in pretending
I know I’ll never fall in love again
Well, as one who remembers lots of different ages fondly (including 35, my age when our adopted daughter arrived at 2 days old in our lives), all I can say is “hang on for dear life” because the next 35 will come and go at lightning speed. Gd speed.
If it makes you feel any better, I’ll call you Kiddo, seeing how you’re an entire year younger than me.
Now pull up your pants and get off my lawn.
“Youth is wasted on the wrong people.”
Do you watch Russian movies? Because in several of them, 35 seems to be the age of angst about not having lived up to one’s potential.
I asked one Russian grad student if there was anything special about that milepost and he replied, “A little.”
I hope that cheered you up a little.
Age is a strange thing.
Here in America we can’t even agree on adulthood. Judges can declare children old enough to be tried as an adult or emancipate them early. They turned my boy into a United States Marine at 18 and taught him dozens of ways he can kill but won’t let him take a drink until his hitch is halfway through. On the other hand, Mr. Obama would like him and his siblings to live in my basement and stay on my health insurance until they’re 26. But they want all of them to take on massive amounts of debt before they’re even old enough to understand what they’re doing.
So, what in hell is an adult any way?
As I aged I used to play the “double it” game. When I was 30 I was confident I’d make 60. At 35, 70 was an easy target. When I hit 40 I reminded myself that my mom was almost there herself. At 45 I knew 90 was a stretch. When I hit 50 there was no fooling myself. I was on the back nine. Strangely, I became comfortable with that.
The bottom line is, of course, that no one is promised tomorrow. There really is no “middle age.” Nobody’s going to tell us when halftime is. Appreciate what you’ve got.
Yeah, things could always be better. But you know they could always be a lot worse, too.
I think the best advice I could give is just to make the most out of life, one of the things about getting older is that you understand your limits better (you understand that if you drink the other half of that whisky bottle you’ll end up with a hangover the next day), age gives you more wisdom but I also think it leads you to appreciate a life a little more I think this is a good thing.
Age leads us to question ourselves, I am younger than you (I will be 30 in July) but I am constantly looking back on my life, but we can’t change the past, we can change the future, live life to full and when given an opportunity don’t shy away reach out and grab it with both hands because we never know how long we have left. All the best I hope you have a really enjoyable birthday.
The pressure!!!
I’m seeing a lot of marathon-runners in this group of wise conservatives – is that a thing now? Perhaps I should look into it, as it’s a healthy focus-shifter from this angst and doubles as a way to prolong one’s life.
I’m working on the doing good in the world-bit, and the bagging up of anxiety :) And hey, happy early birthday!
Amein.
Thank you, Jim.
And I am planning to learn how to climb a tree before 40, at least!
Now that I can live with. Happy early 60th!!
I’ve never read the Fellowe’s book, I will now go get it straight away.