35

This was written about eight years ago. I think it is better than the one that got published....Phil, you out there, buddy?



Thirty-Five


It just happens. You can't stop it. Delay it perhaps, but not stop it completely. You can deny it and resist it. You can squeeze your eyes shut tightly and wish it away, you can try to trick yourself into believing it will never happen to you. But it does, eventually. No matter how hard you may fight it or try to ignore it.

So, what is this mysterious "IT" of which I speak? This unstoppable force of nature? This fact of life, this inevitable state of being which many have tried to deny or at least delay, but few have succeeded? Oh, it's no laughing matter, no little pesky gnat nipping at your cheek, in which case one forceful, well-aimed slap would rid you of it for good, hardly so. It is more like a giant swarm of bees descending upon you, making you feel helpless and perhaps a wee bit apprehensive.

I hear you chuckling to yourself, shaking your head perhaps. Surely "IT" can't be that bad or that pervasive, whatever "IT" happens to be. Well, my friend, I have proof positive "IT" is indeed pervasive, even universal.

My first clue came to me through the most unlikely (and also unlikable!) source: a telemarketer. Actually she was taking a survey, but she bothered me unsolicited during dinner, she worked in a large call center (apparent by the buzzing, beeping, and many other voices I heard in the background), she was young, and probably making $7.00 an hour, so we can all agree: telemarketer. I usually don't respond very positively to these types of people, but she was pleasant, smart, and quick. She promised her survey would only take two minutes, and promised not to try to sell me anything. My first clue to the big "IT" came in her first question: what is your age? There were categories I had to try to fit myself into (something I have struggled with repeatedly in my life); under 18, 18 - 24, 25 - 34, 35 - something which I don't even remember, I was so stunned and frankly mortified by these categories. Now I'm not completely daft, I majored in Advertising in university, so I'm familiar with demographics and such, but I suppose the business of living life, and especially the busy-ness of raising two kids who are 19.5 months apart had kept this information out of the forefront of my mind for a while. Anyway, back to the telemarketing survey. It was 30 days before my 35th birthday at the time. What was I to do? Go ahead and take the little 30 day jump and answer "35" or answer "25-34," which was my chronological age at the time. I felt I was a completely different person than I had been at 25; not a thing I could or would want to find in common with my 25-year-old self. However, these demographics are based on hard cold facts, not feelings, so I answered "34."

But it still blew me away. I mean, 30 days from that day I would be in a whole different freaking category, for goodness' sake. It took me a few days to digest and process that whole episode. In the past, my 29th birthday had been the only one to bother me, but all the birthdays before and since had truly been celebrations. "Yahoo, I made it this far! Yippee, I'm still alive!" But this 35 thing, this whole-new-different-category thing, really got me thinking and, I have to admit, stressing a little about it also.

More proof positive of "IT?" Insurance rates. My automobile insurance rates dropped significantly after my 35th birthday. Since my spouse at the time was 8 years younger than I, this was a fact with which I taunted and teased him any chance I could. Hurry up and get older, would you? You're costing us way too much in insurance premiums!

So what little secret do telemarketing and insurance companies have, what is this universal life mystery that they seem to have unlocked, which they seem to take for granted while it sneaks up on the unsuspecting rest of us and bites us in the ass? Indeed, most of us are blissfully oblivious, perhaps slightly in denial, but mostly unconsciously and truly unaware while we go about our daily lives that "IT" is creeping up on us and will soon...well, bite us in the ass, basically.

It is...drumroll, please...the answer to the mystery question is...brace yourself, are you ready? We all get older. And by "older" I mean not the mere passing of years, crossing the days off the calendar, the obvious inevitable chronological aging process that all of us experience. What I'm trying to get at is, and this may come as a big shock to some of you, we really do grow and change and - gasp - mature. It is amazing but true, and I hesitate to tell anyone this, but I also have proof from my personal life as well, not just universal stuff like telemarketing demographics and insurance rates.

This is difficult for me, admitting this little secret to friends, much less a large group of strangers. You have to understand my background to get why: through most of my 20's I was struggling desperately, and most of the time succeeding, to be "cool." And by "cool" I mean not the kind of cool that would make you say, "Wow, she's really great. I want to take her home to meet my family." More like the kind of cool that would make you say, "Wow, I wanna party with her, man." Cool on the surface, but not on the inside. Wearing ripped up jeans (size 4, I just had to throw that in) with holes in the butt. Hey, give me a break, it was the late 80's - early 90's, and I worked in a bar. I cleaned up on those nights I wore my ripped up jeans. Mucho casho-tola, bigtime bankroll, girlfriend raking it in...ok, enough of that. Let's just say that now I'm much more comfortable with the person I am on the inside not to feel a need to attract that much attention from the outside. Let's move on to this little-known secret from last Christmas that I'm hesitating to share, and considering the revelations from this paragraph, you'll easily see why.

I bought a Billy Gilman Christmas CD.

Fully recovered? Picked yourself up off the floor yet? For those of you that suffered the same type of tragic coolness that I did, you may stop the howls of laughter now. Really, you can.

Even better than the mere purchase of the CD, I thoroughly enjoy it, almost as much as my 7-year-old daughter. And even better than that, I truly, sincerely could care less what anybody, former tragic coolsters even, thinks of me or my musical choices.

That is such a liberating feeling and the best part of growing older. To be secure in your choices, musically or otherwise. To genuinely not give a rat's behind if someone else thinks you're not cool enough to be in their little club. To be secure enough to buy a Billy Gilman CD and admit to enjoying it...hey, that's pretty secure. When you're trying to play tragically cool, you fake that "I don't care what you think" attitude, but to actually feel it and live it is another thing entirely.

So please, put me in the 35 - 49's, the whole new different category. I'll gladly go. I'm comfortable, secure, even happy there.