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When You Still Look Younger, but You’re Really an Old Lady Now
I’m aging like a fine wine, but will eventually become vinegar
“You’re almost 52,” my oldest daughter reminded me the other day. She’ll be twelve in November and has a sister who’s eight. It made me feel like I’m officially getting old.
I vaguely recall thinking my parents were old when I was eleven. My dad was only 37, and my stepmom was 41. Interesting perspective we have as children. A year feels so long when we’re young. Now that I’m middle-aged, years pass like days.
My thirties feel like yesterday.
Time keeps speeding up, and my body is slowing down. If they don’t look at my wrinkly old lady hands (I swear they were the first to show my age), most people don’t know I’m already in my fifties, so I guess I’m aging gracefully.
I’m just now starting to feel older, feeling weird aches and pains and waking up randomly in the middle of the night. Otherwise, I’m moving through my later years with relative ease.
For someone who used to suck on a dirty meth pipe, I’m doing alright. I could’ve died a few times when I wasn’t ready to accept that we humans have expiration dates. Now that I embrace life as finite, I foresee longevity in my future.
