Updated: Aug. 15, 2015
Originally Published: May 28, 2015
“Please, no one ask my age,” I silently plead as I try to slip out of the classroom before someone corners me. All the other parents in my daughter’s class are younger than I am, and I don’t want to be the odd one out.
But naturally, my child chimes in, “My Mommy’s 45 today!” I can feel a gasp escape my lips, which I later realize was audible. The other parents offer polite smiles, but I can see the surprise in their eyes. Honestly, I’m taken aback too. Forty-five isn’t middle-aged! It’s just half the time before someone writes about you in the paper, saying, “She lived a really long life.” And here I am, 45 and feeling like I’m just getting started.
Age has never bothered me much. As the youngest in my family, everyone was always older, and after having my first child at 37, I found myself in a circle of Mom friends who were all older than me. I felt like the baby of the group, even as I approached what society calls “middle age.” Plus, living in Los Angeles for so long, I’ve seen everyone else freeze at 29 while I kept moving forward. I was proud of my age, knowing I was gaining wisdom, and people would often say things like, “You’re just a baby!” or “You look so young!”
Fast forward to now, and when I mention I’m 45, I hear phrases like, “Wow, you look amazing for your age.” Then they spend the next ten minutes trying not to scrutinize my skin for signs of aging. It feels like I’ve entered an uninvited competition with time. I now only seem to look good in comparison to someone auditioning for the next Cocoon movie.
When I’m not receiving compliments about my youthful appearance, I’m met with the phrase “45 is the new 30.” Seriously? Forty-five isn’t the new 30 unless 30-year-olds are dealing with hot flashes and sagging skin. Plus, let’s be honest—30 wasn’t my best year; why would I want to relive it?
As I age, it seems like everyone younger wants me to celebrate it. While I do feel more composed and wise, I also have a 4-year-old at home, and I don’t want to miss a single moment of her life. It’s not about looking old; it’s about not wanting to feel old and missing out on precious time.
Next time some sprightly young mom tells me I should embrace my age because 45 is the new 30, I’ll reply, “Actually, forty-five is the new 46.” Then I’ll ask her where she does her spinning or hot yoga, fully aware that I’m not planning to join in. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about aging, it’s the freedom of being unapologetically myself. If only I had grasped that back when I was 30, which I hear is now the new 29.
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In summary, aging can be a mixed bag. While it comes with its fair share of surprises and societal pressure, the key is to embrace who you are, find joy in every age, and cherish the moments that truly matter.