the universe wobbles and the same is true of my ass.
A day at a beach. Running, running, running. A sun-heated towel. A chair. Bleached, salty. Someone wakes me up when it's time for supper. Then someone puts me into a warm bath, and gives me clean jammies, and reads to me, and tucks me in. And then I sleep, unaware of cancer and credit cards. Someone wakes me up when it's time for breakfast.
I wanna be big.
Don't rush it, little girl. Just run.
+++
I have a scar now. And skin that's just... well. I am the same but suddenly, neurosurgeons and astronauts and nuclear physicists have grown younger. But this is no phenomenon. My universe need not wobble.
I feel no different, only better, except for the mousiness. But then we're driving in the city through the campus and I look out the window slack-jawed and say OH MY GOD these kids can't possibly be at university and Justin says you just called university kids 'kids' and I say so did you and then neither of us say anything at all for the following six traffic lights.
Then a 22-year-old Tasmanian comes to stay overnight and we're talking about movies and she says when was that made? and I say I dunno... 1989? and she humphs adorably and says I was in grade two in 1989 and my head turns into a looping time-lapse of a wilting flower.
Then I tell Daphne about that and we both say my, my, my on a long in-breath.
A friend of mine is 44. No wait. Several friends. And the 22 year-old in me goes OMG that's, like, OMG. ANCIENT. Catching-Flies-With-Chopsticks Ancient. Apple-Doll Ancient. Can't-Possibly-Be-Relevant-In-My-Life-Except-For-Financial-Advice kind of Ancient.
I say to the Tasmanian you're half my age and she goes no way. But she is. Kind of. I've got friends who are 44 and they're totally cool and they are totally 44. And they're my friends and my peers and she's 22, and all of a sudden it's not just her own individual elasticity. It's my lack of it.
Do I care? I don't know.
An early-twenties cousin looks at me and I know what she sees. A mom. An older woman. There's a faint dismissal that's not her intention, but it's there. It's a lack of interestingness that makes my head go but... but... but... Then I look down. I have someone else's jammies in my arms.
+++
You spend the first half of your life waiting for your life to begin. Then someone says Happy birthday! You're halfway to seventy and then parents become grandparents and we all shuffle ahead one chair and then I'm lying there at night convincing myself I wouldn't want to be 22 again anyway.
Except for my ass.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Reader Comments (77)
I'll get back to you in however many years it takes me to figure this out, because I don't want to say anything that warrants an "oh, naiveté".
But, you'll be happy to know that Zoe saw your pictures and was completely convinced that you were significantly younger than you are.
And, now I just feel famous. ;)
But, you're good at all of it. ALL of it. Anyone who thinks that being someone's (sometwo's or somethree's) mother has potential to make a person any less cool, needs to research further. I know of a place where they can study that.
You were TWO? I thought you said GRADE TWO and that flipped me out. God. I was drinking vodka behind the Chickenburger in 1989.
(to everyone) See? I told you I was crap at math.
Here's a fun way:
2010
- 22
------
1988
;)
If I was 7 in 1989, I wouldn't be so far behind you ;)
(xo)
The age gap that once seemed like a chasm is now more like a crack in the pavement.
Besides. Apples are sweet. They don't angst. That's why I wish I'd felt this way ten years ago.
Isn't perspective everything?
-h
ps I don't want to turn 30 this year :-)
i keep trying to believe that.
but then when my ass wobbles.....
and the lines get deeper
but my heart gets bigger
and my mind lets go
and the bed feels really good before 9
and not so many whiskeys does the trick
and a whole generation of teachers lay behind me
and in front of me.
if you and i are around the same age, i get it. i think we are. it's the in between feeling young and not yet getting to be older and wiser. something like that.
i'm going to go do bridge pose for this wobbly ass now.
I tell Viv to slow down, for all the good it will do. Some lessons are only in hindsight.
& the way you reply.
am in for pantsing Alison if the math comes up again. hurts my brain *and* my internal clock.
i feel somewhere between you & Mad. i miss my ass, but own more of myself than ever.
I've started working out again, but the skin and fat are different now and I'm having to come to grips with the fact that it's age and nothing else. I remember someone telling me 10 or so years ago (after I said that a few pounds overweight was no biggie, a little curvy padding was just fine) that it hangs differently when you're older, and boy, it does.
But I wouldn't be anywhere else, I wouldn't want to go back, I don't think, even with everything that's happened. At least, I'm glad I don't have the choice.
The math I like is that none of it really counts until you're an adult, or adult-ish. So, start counting at 18 or 20. We're still teenagers.
i'm liking it, though...this realizing that maybe not everything is still ahead but lots is. easier to focus, now.
I have some more body parts to add to that list, including (but nt limited to) my upper arms (thanks grandma Mormor) and my chin, which I find myself sucking up into my jaw for pictures lately... Ah well.
I just turned 33 yesterday. I make go about saying things my mom would call "irreverant" and then laugh at. 'Hey, I'm Jesus age now! And I STILL haven't gotten around to founding any world religions... man, that's weak.'
The up-side is, of course, that I no longer have angst about whether or not 22-year-olds approve of me. I observe their totally subconscious sense of youth-superiority and smile at them gently, knowing that this, too, shall pass.
Our culture is drowning in an obsession with sex appeal that growing old just can't compete with. It's a shame if you ask me. Then again, I did walk by a 22 year old at the park yesterday strolling my kids with my man and muttered, "Skinny Bitch", so I guess I am a little bitter.
Mind, blown.
Totally relate to this, friend. Especially the ass part.
Plus I can watch my sister being 21, and holy moley, it's a tweezed-eyebrow waxed-legs ironed-hair trainwreck. No thanks.
33 is the new 22. right?
or it that just rationalization?
and i STILL have acne.
love you. you are beautiful and really....really, i hope you know that.
xoxo
Thank you for such an eloquent post!
And the jiggle that I sit on ... alas. Oh, alas. As you say ... well.
Exactly. Exactly!
And he is not even the youngest. There is still a 20 and 19 year old under him. And the youngest has a girlfriend that is still in high school. Her ass makes me wish fiercely mine looked that good but I am not sure it did even back then. Hm, take that back, I have a great ass, it is the stubby short legs under them I would trade in.
Years are leaving their mark more often now. I see it in the fold And flap, it still smarts a bit but I also feel better in many ways than ever before. Aging gracefully is a goal, one I am working on.
And damn woman, your words shine as brilliant as you and your beauty. Mousiness? Bullshit.
I work in PR, a primarily female industry and it's been interesting to watch the newest crop of size 26 jeans, I-will-never-let-myself-go group, look at the women in the firm in their late 20's as old. And in turn watch this group start to feel old. Compared to all of them, I am ancient at 38, but it is fun to have lived enough season to be able to spot the patterns.
If I looked like Audrey Hepburn, I might not fret getting old either.
I tutor kids of a pretty wide age range, and sometimes they find out I'm 22 and their pencils stop and their eyes are saucers because WHOA I'm OLD. But then sometimes a 5th grader is working with a list of numbers in math and she points to 66 and says "Whoa, that's OLD." and I point to 22 and say "What do you think about that?" and she says "That's YOUNG! You still have your whole LIFE to live!"
Being that young is having zero concept of the size and scale and endurance of age. As a teenager we fold up and are just awkward about every damn thing including age because ugh, old people, we'll never age. At 22 age comes zooming at you like everything else as this THING that is suddenly there and very real and very huge and wait, how? when? I'm twenty what? And then you get over it, I expect, and we all just throw up our hands and shimmy through this together because we connect in spite of and because of the years between us, and we smack our foreheads and roll our eyes and laugh because someone is always so! young! we are always getting old, and none of us is safe. I feel enormously old at 22 sometimes, in the same moment that I hear a 40 year old griping and I want to tell them how very young and alive they seem to me, how wizened but still light, exuding promise. So it goes.
This was one of those posts that felt like it didn't really go anywhere or settle on anything or make any conclusions and I almost didn't publish it, but I love the different takes everyone has on it. So yeah. Thanks for making it meaningful! Just sittin' here sippin' on my chi-chi and watching all you guys do the heavy mental lifting. As per usual.
Chrissy, that was a great comment. Fantastic. I'd totally pantz you. Affectionately.
i had my moment the other day when my husband pointed out that we've been together half of my life. already?!?!?
you wear your age so well though ...totally gorgeous. i, on the other hand, look like i got washed with the dirty laundry and someone forgot to put me on permanent press. blech.
And, while Kate is going around pantzing (with a z) us.... ask her about 'Skilled with a Z'... ;)
You know, I'm probably going to deserve a punch in the face, or my pantz around my anklez here in a minute, but the midnight turning of my 20th birthday, I kind of freaked. I mean, shit! "Goodbye, Childhood! It was real." And now, I'm just trying to figure out who I am and what to do, and that's not comfortable most of the time, but, good grief, it's fun.
So cool and beautiful is right, Chrissy. If only we can be half as cool as Kate and these other geriatrics when we get that old ;) Oh jeez. You know I'm joking. You KNOW I'm joking. Tasmanians can't help it. I swear!
Just thanks, Kate. Thanks.
But that's the whole thing of it, isnt it? Not appreciating your ass (I shall pat it dutifully for the duration of tomorrow-HA) til its gone, etc? We all get hand-wringy, regardless of age. There's such comfort in that. Just look at these comments. All these "me too!!"s are just the stuff of it all, and this kind of connection is what keeps me centered and freakout-free every time, and age has no part in it.
As Amanda put it, "Working on good things. Questioning the hell out of all of it." Aren't we all? Gah, yes. Love it.
PS. I too can only hope we'll both age gracefully enough to drop Zs (and 22-year-olds' pants (affectionately)) with as little effort as Kate. But your use of "anklez" is inspired, you're totally well on your way. :-)
On the whole tho....things keep getting better. While I miss "balls out Natalie" that lived circa 1997....the one that drove accross the country with a boyfriend, slept on top of mountains, ate any mushroom given to her....and fished trout of the sides of kayaks...she was also ALOT of work...and consumed far too much beer for her own good. She lived not for the moment...but for the second, she was a bit dangerous and more than a bit exhausting.
34 year old Natalie is calmer, more focused, still silly and still incredulous about the fact that she is ACTUALLY 34 (when did that happen anyway?)....34 year old Natalie looks at 22 year old people and envies their freedom....but is loath to think about the angst and uncertainty that 22 brought her at that age. Good riddance to THAT!
I hope 44 year old Natalie is still happy and well. I suspect that 44 year old Natalie won't feel much different than 34 year old Natalie...just with added wrinkles and maybe a couple more stamps in her passport.
Here's to numbers changing...and things that keep getting better.
PS - completely related and also unrelated.....I went to a fitness event this past weekend in Fredericton...and the only woman from our gym that qualified for nationals....was 41.....she competed against (and kicked the asses of) many MANY 22 year olds....it was all kinds of awesome. Have decided that she's who I want to be when I grow up.
I lived on that one for a while. Now I work with 17-yearolds and I feel old again. And mostly I'm happy to. It took a lot of years to get rid of that teenage angst... :)
Having said that, I'm still relatively young and blessedly healthy. I have the two cutest boys in the world (it's not bragging if it's true!) and a husband still in love with me after more than 20 years together. All in all: pretty dang good life.
recently, a YOUNG friend (16) saw my true, chronological age on my driver license. I'd never really stated my age, but i was a little deceitful ... i did check a 'younger' box on an age range survey he'd taken... so, there we were together at the library counter, waiting on the librarian to return with the book and laughing at my license photo (which was taken TEN YEARS AGO and i actually look older in that picture than I do today,,,just, well, strange) and then (cue the music) he saw ... MY BIRTH YEAR. he gasped with all the drama of a sweet, gay boy and held the pose for several seconds, mouth absolutely AGAPE with the shock of it all. he was... verklempt! i was, like, *shit*, my cover is blown, and then i had to say, 'nick, close your mouth, come over here and sit down...' and spent the next several hours easing him into the fact of my chronological age and warning him if he ever tell the truth to a single soul? i will cut him........ :-)
I wouldn't want to be 22. That was not a good year for me. I would be 30 again — only with my children already.
I haven't been able to say my age aloud since my birthday (end of Jan.). I just keep thinking, well it's not 38 anymore.