How Old Are You on the Inside?

Lately I suspect I'm annoying people with my increasingly frequent references to feeling old. People older than me naturally scoff at such remarks, and younger people cringe--they do not care to be reminded of mortality. So after this post, I will attempt to curtail futher references to aging until I turn the corner on some significant birthday. Not sure which one yet. Oh, but I do reserve the right to observe our annual "ailment night" this summer with my fellow Theologigglers. You know who you are.

The truth is, I don't always feel old. Most of the time, I still imagine that I'm 27. This makes having teenage children hard to explain, but there ya go. Ron and I occasionally ask friends how old they are "on the inside." I always say 27, Ron always says 24. Friends say all kinds of interesting things. One woman, freshly turned 30, told me she felt 45. I put that down to reading too much theology and not watching enough trashy television.

This past week, we've had occasions to feel more than normally confused about how far along we have traveled on life's path. So now, a list of Things That Made Me Feel Old accompanied by a list of Things That Made Me Feel Young.


Old:
Attending, for the first time, a wedding in which our connection to the bridal couple was as friends of the bride's parents.

Young:
At the rehearsal dinner, sitting with the bride's sister and brother and sister's fiance at the "fun table."

Old:
Visiting Pella, Iowa, where we lived from 1992 to 1996, and counting up the years (that wasn't that long ago, right?) only to realize that we first moved there 18 years ago.

Young:
Seeing people we knew during those years who still look exactly the same. (However, it is entirely possible that time passes more slowly in Pella.) And check out this exciting event soon to take place during Tulip Time.


Old:
Realizing, as I explain to people how to find our new house, that the most effective method is to have them turn south at Zaagman's--thus making a funeral home the primary landmark of my life.

Young:
Scheming and plotting all the little decorating changes we'd like to make to our new house, assuming that we have decades to complete them.


Old:

Hearing my students explain that they had a hard time following a chapter about Richard Nixon in a book we read for class, while I remember Watergate rather vividly.

Young:
At least I can still remember things vividly.

Old:

Spending the bulk of my spring break grading, which at least affords me "life of grinding responsibility" points.

Young:
Feeling slightly envious of students who are spending their spring break on a road trip to the sunny South. I don't fancy the all-night car rides anymore (I've always been a complete wussy wimp about losing sleep, actually), but a little bikini-clad ray-soaking still sounds pretty sweet. I'm not ready for bus tours or early bird dinner specials yet.