Today I contacted a writing group about getting more involved in some kind of literary community. I mentioned my age, location, and desire to meet people who like books and writing. After realising that all my friends here are over 40 (I think … I don’t want to be rude and estimate higher but I’m pretty sure no one’s under 39), I thought it might be a good idea to get some around my own age. By “some” I mostly refer to single, literate pilots who need a responsible and semi-articulate wife with whom to share their travel benefits in exchange for social appearances and well-reared children (or, let’s be honest, children who may or may not be well-reared).
Oh come on, you’re thinking that it’s a great idea even if you’re judging me!
Continuing … I would like to point out that I am very happy with my new friends and have no issue with their ages. However it’s been a long time since I’ve had physical interaction with another person who doesn’t have children or a husband, or who hasn’t been through menopause (side note: I’m probably the most prepared 20-something year old ever). I love my friends’ kids, enjoy having drinks with my colleagues, and all that jazz, but it’s damn hard to meet someone who doesn’t have responsibilities to someone else! spontaneity is hard when the people you’re inviting out have to “check” with someone else!
The follow-up response came from someone who said she is 23 and therefore “closer to my age”. I nearly died. 23? Close to my age? What?! Did she mean 32?
… Oh. Right. I’m 26. Not 36. Or 46.
I don’t always feel young. Actually, I rarely feel young. When the kids ask me how old I am I usually respond “very”. It’s bizarre because I feel like I’m old and well past my shelf life (actually, others who are concerned about my single status have been the ones who’ve hinted that the clock is ticking on Finding A Man and Settling Down) but I’m also in denial about being all grown up and wearing sensible shoes (the gorgeous silver heels I smuggled in my carry on do not count in this category, though I’m yet to have an occasion to wear them). I’m still casting aside the student/vagabond costume and trying to get used to the feel of adult/teacher garments … Quite frankly, my current cravings are for daggy yoga pants and several consecutive days spent lounging with a book, cat in my lap, interrupted only by the need to open another bottle of wine. Yes, I make a better Crazy Cat Lady than I do anything else, but I’m working on the facade of Responsible Member of Society with Suitable Qualifications and a Full Time Occupation.
I’m working on embracing my youth. Whatever that may mean … I think I’m past the age of blaring music and cheap wine (Bohemian Rhapsody excepted) but I’m not quite ready for bed at 9pm and anti-wrinkle cream.