“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter”, Mark Twain once said in vain. He forgot to reconfirm it with his wife. Because Mrs. Mark Twain would have certainly corrected him and told him that it does matter if you are a bottle of wine or a woman. Needless to say, they both get better with age.
Now that I have successfully crossed my 20s and about to hit the mid-way mark in 30s, I have earned the right to be honest. I have heard, “Age is just a number.” Yeah, just like grey hairs are God’s way of telling you that he knows how to paint. And the wrinkles on your skin are His way of counting how many times you have smiled and frowned. “You are punished Lady for smiling so much. Now will ensue the catastrophe of deeper laugh lines so that your face looks… well, smiling and drooping all at once.” Not to mention those half squats to uplift that sagging butt and wrinkle creams for the sulking skin. We have to go through so much to look … ahem ‘young’. The worst enemy in all this is gravity, my friend. But yes, we all want to do that, look a little young, and feel a little young.
But I still won’t trade this time for anything. After all, I have spent a good part of my late 20s and early 30s figuring out what it means to ‘Grow up’. I have heard it quite a number of times with the extra emphasis on the wrinkles I have inflicted on the other party. Talk of sadistic pleasure.
And why would I? I now know the meaning of equity and cash flow (from my husband’s pocket) which I didn’t in my 20s. And I have successfully performed the transition from the art of dressing to kill to dressing to hide. I no longer think in fractions for myself like I do for my son. He is six and a quarter but I am thirty-something and not thirty-something and a quarter or a half. I have stopped taking guilt trips. I would rather take a trip to the nearest mall. I have stopped seeking approval, now that I have a self-approval stamp. I now wait for my son’s results rather than mine. It is scarier but better than sitting for the exam myself. I no longer get butterflies in my stomach before an all-important interview or meeting because numerous trips to the loo don’t ensure success. All they do is make you look pale.
So you see, I have ‘grown up’ and have found the secret to a cross between the youth of 20s and wisdom of 30s. I have simply stopped counting. Growing old…. na, it is not my thing.