"I was so much older than that then; I'm younger than that now." -Bob Dylan
Sitting on a plane from Seattle to Amsterdam a couple weeks ago, I crossed my fingers that no one would come down the aisle and take the seat next to me, allowing me to sprawl across the seats for a cozy movie viewing/sleeping on the long haul home. When a cute, young guy rolled up next to me, smiled, and struck up conversation, I was pleasantly surprised and we spent about 7 hours talking, sharing personal details, photos, embarrassing stories, flirting, laughing, and treating each other like old friends. As he talked about his daughter he had just visited for Christmas, a reasonable question came up. I asked, "How old are you?" and he replied with no hesitation, "24." And yes, inevitably the question came back to me, and when I responded, he looked at me with eyes wide and told me, "No way, you are not. I would have guessed maybe 26." He couldn't seem to move on from that figure once I said it, and slipped in a few jokes about age as the night went on.
I realized it then... this past year is the very first in my life (since I turned 18 and became a legal adult) that I've thought about my age. Why is that? Is it the box I have to check for a new age bracket that has me preoccupied with numbers? Is it the fact I've been encountering men who happen to be younger and finding I have more in common with them (maybe due to my interests, a shared desire for fun and movement over settling down, and my need for adventure and unknowns)? I got a message from a friend a while ago that said, "When I met you, you were 29 and I thought you were my age, 21. Now I feel like we're both still 22." Sometimes, when I mark that little box, I have to do a double take, as I often feel I am "younger" than I am. I still get carded, still look forward to happy hour and nights out dancing with friends, still love Halloween, still make jokes and side comments in meetings, still have no desire to own a house or anything I can't pack up and ship in a moment's notice. Is knowing someone's age my new way of categorizing, putting each in compartments to somehow make my expectations more neat and tidy, based on the amount of life lived? This is a strange packaging I've developed, and possibly something I should ponder over more.
The truth is, I love being my age, and I wouldn't go back to my early to mid-twenties for anything. I don't even recognize me in all the years prior to 28. Each year that passes, I know myself better and truer. Through a variety of experiences, successes, mistakes... wash, rinse, repeat... I just get it now, and I see the ups, downs, and all-arounds for what they really are. I live with an authentic sense of self that has developed because of the time and focus I've dedicated to discover that version of me. I realize that age is a terribly unreliable way of classifying others, as there are some lovely people I know that have babies and families, and a deep sense of responsibility and true sense of lived wiseness in their early 20s. And there are others I have encountered that will float aimlessly, chase unrealistic fantasies, and never come to know real emotional intelligence and connection, who are in their 40s and beyond. It's all based on experience and character, rather than merely age.
As for me and the younger flight companion, we smiled, complimented each other, winked, and parted ways. Sometimes those are the minutes allotted for simple lessons learned. Love those. He definitely helped me add to my list about the reasons why younger men are so appealing. But, that's probably a whole other entry. Or maybe a whole other novel. :)
Sitting on a plane from Seattle to Amsterdam a couple weeks ago, I crossed my fingers that no one would come down the aisle and take the seat next to me, allowing me to sprawl across the seats for a cozy movie viewing/sleeping on the long haul home. When a cute, young guy rolled up next to me, smiled, and struck up conversation, I was pleasantly surprised and we spent about 7 hours talking, sharing personal details, photos, embarrassing stories, flirting, laughing, and treating each other like old friends. As he talked about his daughter he had just visited for Christmas, a reasonable question came up. I asked, "How old are you?" and he replied with no hesitation, "24." And yes, inevitably the question came back to me, and when I responded, he looked at me with eyes wide and told me, "No way, you are not. I would have guessed maybe 26." He couldn't seem to move on from that figure once I said it, and slipped in a few jokes about age as the night went on.
I realized it then... this past year is the very first in my life (since I turned 18 and became a legal adult) that I've thought about my age. Why is that? Is it the box I have to check for a new age bracket that has me preoccupied with numbers? Is it the fact I've been encountering men who happen to be younger and finding I have more in common with them (maybe due to my interests, a shared desire for fun and movement over settling down, and my need for adventure and unknowns)? I got a message from a friend a while ago that said, "When I met you, you were 29 and I thought you were my age, 21. Now I feel like we're both still 22." Sometimes, when I mark that little box, I have to do a double take, as I often feel I am "younger" than I am. I still get carded, still look forward to happy hour and nights out dancing with friends, still love Halloween, still make jokes and side comments in meetings, still have no desire to own a house or anything I can't pack up and ship in a moment's notice. Is knowing someone's age my new way of categorizing, putting each in compartments to somehow make my expectations more neat and tidy, based on the amount of life lived? This is a strange packaging I've developed, and possibly something I should ponder over more.
The truth is, I love being my age, and I wouldn't go back to my early to mid-twenties for anything. I don't even recognize me in all the years prior to 28. Each year that passes, I know myself better and truer. Through a variety of experiences, successes, mistakes... wash, rinse, repeat... I just get it now, and I see the ups, downs, and all-arounds for what they really are. I live with an authentic sense of self that has developed because of the time and focus I've dedicated to discover that version of me. I realize that age is a terribly unreliable way of classifying others, as there are some lovely people I know that have babies and families, and a deep sense of responsibility and true sense of lived wiseness in their early 20s. And there are others I have encountered that will float aimlessly, chase unrealistic fantasies, and never come to know real emotional intelligence and connection, who are in their 40s and beyond. It's all based on experience and character, rather than merely age.
As for me and the younger flight companion, we smiled, complimented each other, winked, and parted ways. Sometimes those are the minutes allotted for simple lessons learned. Love those. He definitely helped me add to my list about the reasons why younger men are so appealing. But, that's probably a whole other entry. Or maybe a whole other novel. :)
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