My students like to ask my age. How to answer this is a bit of a conundrum. "How old do you think I am?" often results in an amusing array of numbers--anything from teens to sixties. Sometimes I wonder if I should educate them socially by explaining that asking a grown woman her age is not considered polite. On the other hand, why should I perpetuate our culture's idea that increased age is shameful? Ask a gap-toothed first grader how old he is and he joyously announces it to all interested parties. The honest pride and satisfaction of a newly minted ten-year-old does the inquirer's heart good. What happens to us that, after we shuffle into adulthood, we begin to hedge, rebuff, or lie? Why are we ashamed to be the part of ourselves which is our age?
I suppose the most obvious answer is our young nation's love of youth, beauty, and energy. But it isn't only that. Young adults might hesitate to broadcast their age because they don't want to seem unqualified or naive. Older adults, I suspect, may not like to match themselves up with preconceived notions of stodgy middle age or elderly dotage. "I don't feel like I'm ____ years old," we often say. But truthfully, how we feel now is the actual feeling of our age for us--not whatever idea we had attached to it in our head. For myself, about to tip into my thirties, my deepest sense of discomfort concerning my age is a sense of wasted time and unreached milestones. Yes, that hurts--that sober reflection tinged with shame: what do I have to show for this?
Yet each year is personally meaningful to me. I lived each one! Each carries its own manifestations of joys, wonders, and sorrows. Each tastes of particular regrets and restorations; each offers its own hue--some darker, some brighter, all a part of the weaving of a life--my life. Cresting a year indicates a certain accomplishment. Goodness, traversing 24 hours can be quite a feat! I've heard of birthdays taking on peculiar meaning for cancer survivors. When you realize, starkly, that you might not have made it here, somehow the number becomes meaningful as an old scar, or first snow footprint, or a whole new journal to write in. In light of certain darknesses, I am glad to have achieved my age. In some moods, I feel a bit of fierce victory about it.
For the rest of my life, I want to be pleased and grateful to be my age. In light of this, I have taken to answering a simple question with a simple answer:
"Ms. Elena, how old are you?"
"I'm twenty-nine."
See, it's not that hard.
This has been an interesting year for me -- I turned 61 in October and my mom is 91 -- I never remember exactly how much older she is but it's been easy these few months! I think we do become too conscious of age, but I think too that you are at that particular age that takes us all by surprise, when we know we aren't "college age" anymore . . . Anyway, your life has been a lovely journey for so many of us to have the privilege to have shared in!
ReplyDeleteAw, thank you, Dr. Impson! What lovely, kind words. I think you're right about my particular stage of life. I remind myself often to call myself (in my head and aloud) and "woman" and not a "girl."
DeleteYou are probably 30 by now. It is a wonderful accomplishment for you to now be 30 and writing as you do. I have followed the paths of many young people through their 20s and it is so hard in our culture for those with idealistic visions of their lives to continue that vision until the age of 30. You have! You are in the stream of life, living it on the terms you set out for yourself. It is a wonderful achievement and I celebrate you. I have a friend, Rachel, who just turned 30. She has been working with immigrants in Tucson these past few years. Earlier this month she crawled under an idling truck to stall the detention of a friend. She has turned the corner of her life and I am confident that her life will continue to be guided by her principles for as long as she lives. I have another friend, now 33, who spent a night with me last month. He will get his PhD in theology/philosophy soon, but wants to live in an intentional community, and will, despite his huge school debts and custody of his son. He, too, has kept his vision. And my daughters. To all of you who have kept your heart set on a vision of how you want to live this life, I thank you for your purity and purpose. You are my hope.
ReplyDeleteWell, that is heartening comment, Newell--thank you! By the end of this week, I will be thirty. I'm actually excited about the coming decade. In some ways, I feel younger and more hopeful than I did going into my twenties, for which I am deeply grateful.
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