40 Something

Having climbed up to the ripe old age of 40 something, I began to notice annoying reminders everywhere that I had reached the plateau of the ‘hill’ with not a gradual, forgiving decline on the other side, but a cliff suitable for skydiving. All the way up the ‘hill’ were road signs flashing, not in neon, but more like lightening, warning me – Steep decline – apply brakes.

The aging signs were small at first, like pimples next to wrinkles, leaving me confused on whether I was going through my second puberty or my first menopause. I also didn’t know which facial cream to apply. I started buying push-up bras, not to ‘push-up’ but rather to hold in place the objects that have proven Newton’s Law of Gravity. While gravity is a good thing, sadly, it will not hold down the coarse, curly gray hairs that spiral out from the recent dye-job.

Doctors are also a constant reminder, which accounts for the increase of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. Women were not anxious or depressed before coming for ‘the annual exam.’ We are also subjected to the 40 and over checklist, which has to be held at the precisely the right distance, not too close, nor too far, in order to read the fine print. Completing this list requires two pencils, a battery operated, sharpener, and a memory fit for an elephant.

I believe that middle age is a myth. Here’s why: Every age is sandwiched between two other ages. Sometimes the bread may be moldy, sometimes it’s fresh. So, even a six-month-old is middle-aged. And why not call it middle-younged? It’s a ploy for all us 40-something folks. If the word ‘aged’ is mentioned, frantic age fighters embark on the search for the non-existent fountain of youth.

I don’t wonder why there is an obsession with looking, feeling and probably even smelling younger. The storm is closing in and we will do anything to take shelter. We eat foods to fight the aging from the inside out; we drink products to give us the energy we once had. Our conscience and subconscious thoughts are picketing the ‘increase in age”, and we dream of writing our congress people demanding, “Put a stop to aging – it’s taxing us”.

 I am reminded, daily, by my offspring that despite my vigilant efforts, I am old. Noah and I were playing ‘I Spy’. It was my turn, and I ‘spied’ something gray. With a smirk and a fit of laugher he said, “Your hair.”

I’m just happy that my memory loss is kicking in because I’d forgotten how to be embarrassed. So I guess that getting older does have some advantages, I just can’t remember what they are. But I will ride the storm, take my Ginkgo biloba, and struggle to recall the words of the old and wise ones – “When you hear thunder, it means you are close enough to get hit by lightening.”