I went for my flu vaccine and covid booster this week. The nurse asked my age and I actually had to think about it then work it out. I don’t mean I do not know how old I am just that I wasn’t sure which year I was in. I knew I was older than 60 but was I still 61 or had I progressed to 62? I really do not think about my age enough for it to become an automatic (correct) answer when asked.
As a child, when I played make-believe games with friends I always wanted to be 17. It seemed a perfect age to be when I was 6! I am not sure why but ‘My name is Janet, I am 17 and I work in a shop’ seemed to be my peak aspiration. There was something so wonderful about being called Janet to my 6-year-old self and I longed to be able to change my name (probably when I became 17). I’m not sure I remember what kind of shop I aspired to work in though.
There was a period in my mid to late thirties when I felt I was already 40. I had four Bombers under 12, there were endless activities to drop them off at or pick them up from and I was trying to run my own business. I admit there was more than one occasion when I forgot about pick up and found Tiny Bomber standing alone outside the dance class and I once left a Boy’s Brigade Christmas show and drove home without Senior and Junior. (Don’t be so judgey: they survived!) It was a hectic time and so between the ages of 35-39 I believed I was 40 years old.
More commonly though I have believed for most of my adult life that I am 25, at least in my head. This has become increasingly disconcerting as The Bombers have themselves passed that milestone so in recent years I think I have aged to…oh, possibly 28. I may even reach 30 in the not to distant future. Until then I will not think unduly about the number and will act whatever age I feel and my knees will allow.
Significantly Different 