I'm Too Young (To Be This Old)

I don't lie about my age, and I like to think that I'm growing older with grace and acceptance - but maybe I'm more in denial than I know. My right knee is acting up - which is because I'm so active, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. So I went to see an orthopedist who specializes in athletes' knees (and who didn't tell me to stop dancing, like the last few doctors I'd seen), and who would have been an absolute delight except that I realized I was several years older than he was, despite his vast experience.

The next bad omen was going in for the MRI. I'd heard horror stories about the claustrophobia, but for me the worst part was when the technician offered me a selection of music for the headphones. (I'd brought my iPod, but she insisted I use their system with the old fashioned ear-covering headphones, because she said "the machine can be somewhat noisy" - which is like saying the Titanic took on a little water. The noise was a mash of police sirens, car alarms, and R2D2 beeps on steroids!) Head banging heavy metal wouldn't have drowned out the MRI sounds, but I appreciated the effort. However, the music selections were Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, or Nat King Cole (but not their hip jazz, the borderline muzak numbers like New York, New York, Hey There and my personal least favorite, Lazy Crazy Days of Summer, which still reminds me of those cheezy King Family Singers specials I saw as a kid). It was a 'duh' moment - realizing what those selections were telling us about the demographic they expected at a facility catering to people with bad hips, knees, and other joints. Jeepers, they think I'm old! (And that was a joke, I'm not old enough to have ever said 'jeepers' except ironically.)

I started thinking back on all the 'you're old' insulting moments I've suffered over the past few years; the subscription to the AARP magazine that starts the day you turn 50; dressing up for a night out and hearing my 16-year-old say 'Mom, women your age look slutty when they wear short skirts'; the time I got carded buying wine at Safeway, and when I told the cashier he'd made my day, he said, "Oh, no, ma'am, we have to card everyone, no matter how old you are".

However, the MRI music thing really got to me - see, I listen to vintage music, but I thought that was a fun quirk in my taste, a historical appreciation, like my love of vintage clothes and Astaire/Rogers musicals. (And I prefer the more hip choices - Benny Goodman instead of Glenn Miller, Andrews Sisters vs. Maguire Sisters, and only the early, cool Sinatra stuff.) But I didn't think of MYSELF as vintage. I mean, what's next, offering me samples of Metamucil and Depends? MRIs with a choice of Glen Campbell or Mitch Miller?

Unfortunately, my kids know how old I am so I can't lie about it, but I am now officially in denial. I'm going to go buy something cute and age-inappropriate at Forever 21, and listen to some Green Day while I touch up my totally premature gray roots!

Late Bloomers

Tomorrow I hit a major milestone birthday, and you won't be hearing about it on the news ('movie star turns 33'). That's mostly because I'm an obscure suburban mom who occasionally writes and performs comedy, and whose albums sell by the dozens if I'm lucky; but I prefer to think of myself as a late bloomer, someone who won't achieve noted success until later in life. (And my milestone is the big 5-0, so I'm already 'later in life'!) I've always found it odd that we expect people to achieve creative success early in life - frankly, I'd much rather read, watch, or listen to someone with the broader perspective of age than take advice from some young snip. (I remember a few years ago, the singer Jewel published an autobiography at about age 25 - I know I was an idiot at 25, and I didn't want to read about anyone else at that age!)

In most professions, one's ability is only enhanced by age, not to mention having more experiences to draw on. (The exceptions being supermodel and professional athlete.) So here are a few examples that at least make me feel better about my late-bloomer-to-be status:

Rodney Dangerfield didn't start doing comedy professionally til he was 42.
KT Oslin was 47 when she released her first album.
Zelda Rubenstein (the medium from 'Poltergeist') didn't have a major movie role til she was 49.
The Marquis De Sade wrote his first book at 51.
Poet Wallace Stevens was an insurance salesmen until he began publishing his poetry in his 50s.
Daniel Defoe wrote Robinson Crusoe at 58 (and back then, 58 was OLD!)
Alfred Hitchcock made his best films (including Rear Window, Psycho, and North By North West) between 54 and 61.
The paintings Paul Cezanne made in his 60s are 15 times more valuable than those he made in his 20s and 30s.
Maya Angelou was in her 60s when her books and poetry became popular (and she appeared on Sesame Street).
Laura Ingalls Wilder published her first "Little House" books in her 60s.
Colonel Sanders began Kentucky Fried Chicken in his 60s.
Grandma Moses was in her 70s before she began painting.

Colonel Sanders and Grandma Moses are the exception - most of these artists, like Hitchcock, Cezanne and Angelou, began their creative efforts early, but their work continued to improve as they aged, like fine wine. So that's me - a mature cabernet, rather than a beaujolais nouveau-esque child prodigy. Besides, many early successes, like Mozart, also died young. In fact, when Mozart was my age, he'd been dead for 15 years. Actually, I'm not sure if that makes me feel better, but I know I'll use my father's line, when people ask if I mind turning 50 - "Not when I consider the alternative!"

Benefits of Aging

I'm heading rapidly toward the big 5-0, and while everyone says 'age is just a state of mind', there are unpleasant physical ramifications, too!, from creaky knees to a sagging jaw line. I've discovered that when I smile, it lifts my cheeks enough to prevent me from looking like a jowly Marlon Brando (which explains why I look so weirdly cheerful all the time!) - but I've also decided it's time to try to find the positive aspects of aging.

1) You're more comfortable in your skin - granted, because said skin is considerably looser, but oh well, looser is more comfortable!
2) You start tuning out those judgmental voices in your head, what therapists call 'negative self-talk' or 'inner critic', or what my friend Danielle calls 'Radio K-FUC', or what I call my most recent phone call from my mother.
3) You care less about what other people think. (One day at school pick-up, I was wearing my typical loud bright colors, talking to a group of 4 women all of whom were in dark, dull tops, khaki pants and flipflops. One of them sniped, "Gee, Lauren, I need sunglasses to look at you today", and without thinking I quipped, "Well, I guess I didn't get the wardrobe memo." And it felt good!)
4) You realize that growing older beats the alternative.