I must be aging. I’ve heard that’s what happens. You always feel a young 18 on the inside, even when the outside tells a different story.
This fact of life first hit me a few weeks ago on a Sunday morning. I was just sitting down in church when I turned around to see a young lady I didn’t recognize sitting a couple rows behind me. I got up and walked over to her, offering her a smile and a handshake, and introducing myself. She told me her name, but then gave me this quizzical look. After a pause she said, “I thought this is where the young people were supposed to sit…”
I just about died. Reading it still makes me laugh. “It is where the young people sit,” I wanted to say, “that’s why I am sitting here.” But instead, I offered that I sit there because I volunteer with the young people…
Then, yesterday brought jab to my vanity number two. I had Jury Duty.
After making my way through an almost impossible downtown, I got through security check, waited in a forever long line, and finally found a seat in a tiny room packed with too many people. After a few minutes the empty seat beside me was filled by a stylish woman who I guessed to be around my age. She took off her coat, let out a big sigh and took a visual scan of the others in the room. She leaned over to me and said hello. Then she mentions how weird she feels because she is quite obviously the youngest person in the room. (my paraphrasing)
What?! What about me? I’m young! I’m young! oh man. laughing again.
Turns out she was indeed (a measly) three years younger than me.
Guess I should be researching retirement homes soon. . .