Middle-Aged

Sometimes, I forget how young I am. I feel almost middle-aged some days. Like Jacob Black, I’ve come to think that “age is just a number, baby.” I’m sure everyone has those moments of child-like wonder, just like we all have those times when we don’t recognize the ancient face in the mirror.

I’m usually pretty good at guessing how old someone is by their looks. Wrinkles, hair, etc. are generally good indicators (not counting celebrities). A person’s true age, however, their “soul age,” if you would, can really be seen in their eyes. Some people seem almost born with an old soul, while others never grow up.

Life can add years faster than the calendar. Experience, accomplishment, responsibility, loss, and other stresses age a person. One of my friends said to me, “sometimes I look over and wonder how old you are. 24? 26?” It’s true that lately, I’ve been having more and more of those days when I feel closer to 40 than 20.

So far, I haven’t decided whether aging is good or not. Maturing is definitely good, but I don’t want to lose any more of the adolescent essence of simple fun. Maybe the best way to deal with all the complications of an adult life is to revert to a temporary childhood. Now, where did I put those crayons?