comes with age.

i do a lot of walking around the city in the winter, and learned very quickly last year that my suede ugg-type boots just won’t cut it.  so when my mom called last week and said she was picking me up a pair of hardy, waterproof, winter boots, i geeked out.

“you know you’re old/poor when you get jazzed about winter boots,” i said, laughing.

as i write this, most of my friends are out and about, watching live music or walking the streets of Toronto.  i am in my pajamas at 8:30p, watching tv and drinking a gin & tonic.  i must be getting old, i think to myself.

what is this obsession we have with age?

this morning, as i was sharing some of my story with an older regular at the coffee shop, he began a sentence with “well, when you get to my age….”  i cringed.  he proceeded to tell me how i would likely change my optimistic view point when i got to his age, that if i just gave myself a few more years i would realize that it would be easier to curl up and die.

as if pain/hopelessness/weariness could be relegated to age.

we spend so much time focusing on age…feeling too old, or making others feel inferior because they’re “so young”…but maybe it’s all the human experience.  sure, things like pop culture or certain habits or approaches or perspectives do tend to distinguish the generations, but maybe we’re all more alike than we realize.  we all walk through grief.  we experience unmet expectations, disappointing relationships, loss of friends or family members.  we all suffer through lonely transitional periods, have to make uncertain decisions for the future, worry about where the money will come from.

age shouldn’t separate us, it should be our greatest teacher.

 

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