I’m 33, going on 67. Whereas other single 33-year olds are buying jumbo packs of condoms, here’s my jumbo pack.
When I was a child, people often called me an old soul (euphemism for sanctimonious bore?) and I never fully understood it. Looking back, I can acknowledge how quiet, introspective and maybe more serious I was compared to my peers (I still am). Is that what we mean when we say someone’s an “old soul”? Whatever the meaning, I heard that I was an 89-year old trapped in a 10- or 16-year-old’s body. And well, the body has begun rapidly catching up.
The first sign of my body’s impending demise was a first gray hair at 16 (which was pointed out to me a little too jubilantly by the perfectly coifed/complexioned, six-foot model girl who slogged alongside me at Bonanza Restaurant, yet somehow made it look glamorous. In case you aren’t picking up on it, we were SUPER close friends.).
As an undergraduate, I was plucking gray hairs and foolishly attending concerts so loud that when I returned to my dorm I wouldn’t hear the elevator ding as it hit each of the 8 floors it took reach my mine (hence today’s jumbo pack).
Moving into my thirties has been especially exciting. I had my first hearing test in about 25 years (much more advanced today than the circa 1984 “raise your hand if you hear this beep” exam). And even though I turned out to only have borderline hearing loss, I give the guy props for really trying to sell me on hearing aids. He only looked a little worried when I told him I had zero collateral for the $7500 purchase… (How the heck does anyone afford those things?) Also, I broke down and started using Rogaine for women earlier this year (which, sidenote, the makers expect you to rearrange your entire life for to use “properly”). And finally, the young woman who proudly (okay, self-righteously) and smoothly transitioned into camel pose…
now feels a twinge doing a simple seated side bend…
Incidentally, Grampa’s Garden has a fabulous lumbar pac for post-side bend blues.
The upshot is I may only be a couple years ahead of schedule: “Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart.” ~Caryn Leschen
My empathy and sympathy to those experiencing any physical or other not-so-pleasant side-effects of aging (aka: everyone in the entire universe).