Sure, it’s a dysfunctional family where a lot of narcissistic whims usually collide into communication disaster, but still… You wouldn’t imagine something as natural as getting old would get so much backlash.
Whatever you do, if you come over, never talk to my 74-year-old mother about old age. Or young age. She will try and goad you towards it, but stay strong. Whatever you say, I can guarantee it will result in mayhem!
Probably as a rebellious act against my family of origin, my heart and brain are telling me not only that I don’t care about my age, but that I fully embrace middle age with all its faults.
If age is just a number, I want it to be a big one.
People who are younger than me will say I’m ancient. And those who are older will say I’m too young for this conversation! No matter how old I am, I never seem to be young enough or old enough to have a valid opinion on anything.
For the record, I’m 42. The profile photo is of myself on a good day, under good light. And whatever you want to say to that, I’m getting old(er) and I like it this way.