Girl: I really like your outfit!
Me: Thanks! It’s pretty vintage.
Girl: Wow, you’re the first older person I’ve met who knows what vintage means.
I stood there for a moment, trying to wrap my head around her words. Did she just imply I’m older? That struck me like lightning.
Her excitement was palpable, as if she had discovered a rare artifact from a bygone era, perhaps one that had a faint recollection of the latest pop trends. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Me: Well, back in my day, we called it retro.
Girl: Retro? That’s so cool you know that!
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would find myself in this situation. I still operate in a world where I believe 1995 was just a short decade ago, and I’m convinced Madonna is still in her prime. Yet, here I am, watching the skin on my hands slowly shift, revealing tendons that were once hidden. Rogue chin hairs have made an unwelcome debut, and for every one I manage to pluck, two more seem to pop up. Soon, I might need to race my husband to the clippers just to maintain a tidy appearance.
Kids treat me like I’m an actual adult now. They listen when I tell them to stop running in the playground. Somewhere along the way, I’ve transformed into a figure of authority simply because I “look” old enough. And let’s not forget the increasing frequency of being called “ma’am.”
Being referred to as ma’am has become my not-so-pleasant rite of passage, signaling a few harsh realities:
- I no longer appear as youthful as I feel.
- I’ve lost touch with mainstream music.
- Most people in their twenties look like they just graduated from high school.
- Fashion has taken a turn I’m not quite ready for.
- The tweens I encounter were mere ideas when I tossed my cap in the air at graduation.
In my twenties, I could drop a few pounds by devouring an entire pizza. Now that I’m in my thirties, my body seems to store every calorie like it’s preparing for a long winter. I’ve even discovered new areas where fat accumulates, such as the mysterious zone between my armpit and my breast, which I fondly refer to as “side bacon.”
Back then, exercising was about having fun and fitting into cute, tiny skirts that flared with movement. Today, my skirts resemble bed sheets, and the only thing fluttering is my kids playing beneath them. Exercise has become a necessity—not just to keep my belly from expanding like a low-budget horror movie monster, but to maintain my mobility. If I don’t keep active, I might just fossilize and break a hip while rescuing a lost cat toy.
It’s not just about physical changes; my entire lifestyle feels like it’s aging.
Nights out used to start at 8 p.m., but now it’s a hassle to find a babysitter and return home at a reasonable hour. When I get the chance to go out, I find myself rejecting those late-night bar meet-ups—too noisy, and I’m already snuggled in my pajamas by then.
Yes, I’m getting older, and the world knows it.
However, in fifty years, I probably won’t care about those pesky chin hairs. I might just use the space under my tendons to stash coupons or my AARP card. I’ll still be blissfully unaware of who One Direction is, and my side bacon may have evolved into something more like side ham by that time.
When I stroll through the retirement community where I will surely reside—donning my faded Chuck Taylors in all their glory—I’ll still hold onto the belief that 1995 was just yesterday, and Madonna is still somewhere around 32.
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Summary
Navigating adulthood can feel bewildering, especially when you realize how much you’ve changed since your youth. From the way children perceive you to the physical changes you experience, growing up brings a mix of nostalgia and acceptance. As you continue to embrace this new phase of life, remember that while the world may see you differently, your spirit can remain timeless.