When did you feel it?

My generation is held culpable for whining about age all the time. It’s true; age and weather predominate our conversations. Maybe we have matured ahead of time due to our lifestyles and work stress. I think, work-life balance is the cruelest myth ever!

Every single time I say, "I am getting old," the older people yell me at. For someone in their fifties or sixties, thirty is the sweet age of opulence and vigor. I am mortified to admit (and bloody proud too) that both my father and mother-in-law are more about joie de vivre than most of my contemporaries.

Well, in some ways I agree with the adage: "You are only as old as you feel." That might be true mentally but on a physical level, equations change. If you are enervated, feelings and perception don’t matter. You can’t function. The other day, a friend in her mid-twenties, confessed that her brain couldn’t perform the basic tasks with just four hours of sleep, three nights in a row. That was the first sign for her. Even an overdose of caffeine betrayed her.

I was talking to my sister-in-law the other day, and she mentioned that at a dinner party at her place, despite a cornucopia of choices, people actually chose to eat salad. Now I know all these beloved folks. Five years ago, the same crowd would have not only alienated the greens and focused on a pure meat and alcohol diet but also ridiculed anyone who even glanced at the healthy options. Mind you, none of these people are over thirty-something yet felt that age had altered their food preferences.

Friends have shared various instances and experiences when they got a little visit from the "Age-Satan." I got a hint of aging (fine, turning thirty actually) when I metamorphosed from a nocturnal party animal into a morning creature. Aside from passing out from fatigue before midnight, I started finding bars too loud and wearing. Lip reading over deafening music doesn’t excite me any more. They got replaced with mood-suiting Mozart pieces and other forms of both western and Indian classical music. Aperitif at chic lounges ousted $5 cocktails, in hideous glasses, at Irish Pubs; often, spending time with intimate set of friends started winning over clubbing. Staying in on a Friday night--wearing PJs and ordering in and watching reruns of The ‘70s Show is our ultimate idea of Friday evening. It’s a luxury, and my husband and I wish we could do it more! A few years ago, I couldn’t imagine anything lamer than no social commitment on a Friday night.

Today, I’m okay with missing an opening night at a new wine bar or a new artistic event, just so I can watch my three nieces on Skype: Discuss "favorite authors" and celebrities with my oldest niece; art & food & dance with my second one; and watch the youngest clap her hands & devour the microphone.

Despite complete apathy towards ornaments, I am willing to discuss jewelry with my mom and mom-in-law on a Sunday morning instead of trying out a new brunch place and washing down the week’s nuance with a cup of freshly brewed cappuccino. My vacation list consists of exquisite time with my family too as opposed to JUST exotic places with my hubby. Up until a few years ago, we would travel every month. No exaggeration there. Ask our bank account; it’s orphaned:-) A confession: At times, clearing up all social commitments for a weekend and soaking in the free time (Oh, so rare) is the best therapy.

So, when was the first time you started feeling you’d aged?

More until next time.
Xoxo

Copyright © 05.14.2009


"The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young" Oscar Wilde

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