If you call me middle aged, I will kick your ass.
I was asked lately how it felt to be middle aged, and I nearly hit the person through the computer. “Middle aged? What IS that exactly? I don’t plan on dying until I’m 100, so re-do your math, asshat.”
45 for me is like this:
- I’ve had a lot of health issues that have zero to do with my age. I’m still truckin’.
- I’ve been in a committed relationship for over 7 years, and that dating BS where you have to figure out how someone likes their eggs cooked is way freaking over.
- I’m not 21. I never have to do the “walk of shame” ever again.
- The roof over my head gets paid for, and all the rest of the bills too. I’m poor, but not so poor I can’t do nice things for people.
- I don’t give two flying f’s what people think of me. If I annoy someone, they can exit stage left, because I’m OK with me.
- I know my limits. My tolerance of stupid is probably lower than it used to be, but I control the immediate urge to give someone a “talking to.” Ok, not always, but I’m actually nicer than I used to be.
- I can cook like a champ, and I never have to eat Ramen again unless I choose to.
- I have the friends and family members I CHOSE, and who also chose me. No guilt about people who throw you away, peeps.
- I’m not afraid to be Peter Pan, and hope people don’t think I’m ridiculous for being a kid at heart.
- I never let anyone succeed in attempting to make me feel less than, or stupid. It’s just no longer happening. I know my limits and my excellence, and I don’t need someone else to define those for me. I’m the one who lives alone in my brain 24 hours a day.
- I have friends of every age, from kids to much older than me. What a wealth of information and perspectives.
I hear people say they wish they were 21 again. I don’t. I never lie about my age, because I’m happy and proud I made it this far. Regrets are worthless, and all I have is today.