I know how my mother felt when she was my age. It was a startling revelation to me when my nine-year-old daughter asked me if I was on Twitter. What does she know about Twitter?! I’m already perturbed that she uses her grandmother’s facebook account to rob me of my crops on Country Story and demand I give her gifts on Pet Society and Restaurant City. But Twitter…?
Then it hit me. I’ve been in denial for at least a year, probably two. Once I hit 30, I slowly began to evolve from being part of the young generation to that weird generation between old and young. In my mind, I’ve been lumped in with my older second cousins, but happily not yet up there with my mother. Ask my kids though and Moses was my grandfather. I listened to the radio and made it through one song without my ears bleeding, while my kids, positioned cleverly in the backseat to provide surround sound, sang every word. I sighed. Welcome to ‘You’re not young’, D.
At first, I wanted to rebel. I’m not ready to not be young anymore, dammit. I have an MP3 player and cell phone (both of which are dinosaurs according to the kids). I write a blog. I’m on Twitter and actually tweet. I’m on facebook and MySpace. I can write basic HTML code. I ran this list of accomplishments down to myself and as soon as I was satisfied I wasn’t old, my daughter asked me if I was on another social networking site. For the life of me I can’t remember what the site is, but when she asked and I had to tell her no, I made a mental note to sign up as soon as I unpacked the laptop. Of course, I forgot.
Then I got to a good Zen place. No, I’m not young if I ask anyone under the age of 25. Not even close to being young as they define it. But what I realized is that I’m something else: content. Young people, for the most part, are still defining themselves, still trying to be the bigger person and be done with dumb, still pointing out flaws in themselves and others. Content people affirm changes they want to make internally and act or accept themselves as is and keep it moving. We actually encourage you to keep your flaws because it’s part of what makes you… you. We realize all that energy used getting people told is energy that could be used to plan the next girls’ night in. Dressing in summer clothes and shoes to go out in January is replaced with trendy winter clothes that keep us warm and don’t have fruit, cock and tale on display. Those extra pounds are a testament of life: Going through some things, learning, getting up after we fall down and happily celebrating the good times.
So boo to those kids. As my fingers crack and my back and knees pop while I type this, I’m satisfied knowing that I still have some life in me and some years where I’m still hot to some part of the male population, but wise enough to accept people as they are and live life on my own terms. Creaks, extra pounds and all.