Better With Age

Tom and I took out daughters and our niece to see Paramore at an outdoor show last night. They ended up hooking up with friends so - even though they were all around us, we were still essentially alone.

It was a very young, predominately female crowd. I won't bother to describe what that sounded or looked like - what you're imagining is probably right on target.

Tom to me: "I don't think we're the oldest people here."

Me to Tom: "You might be right. But if we're not, we're certainly in their peer group."

At one point, shortly after nightfall, we decided to take advantage of the fact that all the girls were standing so we had the blanket to ourselves. It was a beautiful night to be outdoors. We laid back and looked up at the stars.

Tom said to me, "Do you suppose those are airplanes?"

I saw right away what he meant. The stars weren't behaving like proper stars. They were blinking in and out in a way that was much more pronounced than a subtle twinkle (which is, as everyone knows, what proper little stars do). And one - no - more than one of them had tails.

"What the - is that a shooting star? I've never seen a shooting star before!"

"It can't be - I think they move faster - but it's something..."

We mused on the stars for a few moments, wondering why none of the kids were noticing the fabulous display going on right before their eyes. In years past, I may have attributed it to a contact buzz, but the smoking ban has pretty much obliterated that possibility.

And then it hit us.

We were getting this private show because when we laid down and looked up through our bifocals it distorted the images.

After we figured it out, we didn't stop. At least not right away. We were getting to trip for free AND the drive home and the morning after would be completely symptom free.

Getting old. Wearing bifocals. Bonus.

Act Your Age

I used to always be able to sleep on planes. Once in my early 20's, when I was much younger and way cuter than I am now, I fell asleep on a flight and woke up with my arm wrapped around the arm of the gentleman next to me and my head nestled comfortably into his shoulder. There may or may not have been drool involved. He was, as I already mentioned, a gentleman. He didn't mention it. He was a complete stranger. My embarrassment was mild and fleeting though, because he clearly found the whole situation adorable.

If I repeated that scenario now, I suspect that the reaction of a stranger would not be the same.

On my most recent flights I couldn't even relax, much less sleep. I spent the bulk of my time scrunching my shoulders inward in a ridiculous attempt to take up less space than I do. When I board a plane now, I can almost hear people's thoughts as I head up the aisle, "Dontsitbymedontsitbymedontsitbyme" followed by a relieved exhale as I pass them by. When some unlucky loser in the seat game DOES have to sit next to me, I wonder if they can hear my equally loud thoughts,
"Imsorryimsobigimsorryitakeupspaceimsorry".

What's adorable behavior for a young (relatively) attractive woman would be absolutely appalling behavior for - well - me.

Take flirting. Oh my Lord, I like to flirt. Always did. Probably always will. Now, though, you're unlikely to find me very flirtatious before my third cocktail. The inhibitions that come with age, and weight, and feeling generally unattractive need to be softened up a bit these days before I can muster up enough confidence to play the coquette. Even using that word - coquette - to describe me seems wrong. I'm a big woman pushing 50. I'm not anything -ette.

But I always have fun when I let myself give in to it.

Bartender? I'll have another of those, please. (Lowers eyes and raises them at the bartender just like Susanna Hoffs circa 1985. Just. Like her.)

Ah, but acting one's age can be as difficult to figure out as dressing one's age.

When kids are very young, it starts. We don't want them to act any younger than they are - that's immature and annoying. We don't want them to act any older than they are - that's precocious and obnoxious. Yet most kids err on both sides of that equation from time to time.

I still err on both sides of that equation from time to time.

Sometimes I still feel as though I could party like a rock star (complete with massive amounts of flirtation) and sometimes I'd just rather bitch about my arthritis and my hot flashes. Only difference I see between that and kids getting it wrong is that when I err on the side of youth it's obnoxious and when I err on the side of geriatrics it's annoying.

Act your age, not your shoe size. And while I'm at it, I should probably stop buying my shoes in the Juniors department. Candies aren't cute with cankles. Friends don't let friends wear mary janes with support hose.

But what is a woman my age supposed to act like? What is she supposed to look like? What is she supposed to dress like?

Ah, friends, it's just another variation on the theme I've been exploring for weeks - no, months - no, years: I need to simply be who I be.

Such a simple sentiment, it really should be easier for me to grasp.

I'm Big Enough; I'm Small Enough

A pretty typical activity for teachers of young kids is a project called some variation on 'I'm Big Enough; I'm Small Enough'. This is a great activity for kids who are at an age where they're being sent conflicting messages to help them figure out exactly where they stand. Kids who are not yet old enough to make many decisions, but are constantly being told they're "old enough to know better". The idea is to come up with positive things on both sides, for example: "I'm big enough to tie my own shoes; I'm small enough to cuddle in Daddy's lap for a bedtime story". This of course evokes "awwwww's" from the grown-ups, but it also helps the wee ones figure out that there are positives to being bigger than some and smaller than some.

I wondered if a similar activity would help with my midlife crisis.

I'm big enough to worry about not fitting in an airline seat;
I'm small enough that I don't need to drive a special car.

Hmm. That certainly didn't make me feel much better.

Perhaps I need to change it up a bit given my circumstances. Let's try: I'm young enough; I'm old enough.

I'm young enough to want to get my party on;
I'm old enough to know when to turn over the car keys.

I'm young enough to travel;
I'm old enough to afford it (theoretically, anyway).

I'm young enough to be idealistic;
I'm old enough to be practical.

I'm young enough to listen to and respect dissenting opinions;
I'm old enough not to let that change my mind.

I'm young enough to want to dress fashionably;
I'm old enough to have been forgotten by the designers.

I'm young enough to want to go to rock concerts;
I'm old enough to want to have somewhere to park my ample ass available at same. I might also want earplugs. If Pete Townsend wasn't immune to hearing damage, what makes me think I'll be? I'm also old enough to like Pete Townsend.

I'm young enough to want a beer at that concert;
I'm old enough to realize I can practically buy a twelve-pack for what that beer will cost. It can wait.

I'm young enough to want to try to fit in;
I'm old enough to not put so much store in other people's opinions.

I'm young enough to love Andy Samberg;
I'm old enough to have loved John Belushi - first run.

I'm young enough to want to try new things;
I'm old enough to be a little set in my ways.

I'm young enough to feel cute in my new hat;
I'm (almost) old enough for that hat to be red.

That was a pretty decent start. Maybe I'm just young enough and just old enough. Maybe this is just the right young/old for me to be. How about you? What are you young enough; old enough for? Or big enough; small enough, if you really want to go to there. I'm dying to know - I know I've missed good ones!