Caught Between There and There
Recently, some things have come to my attention. Calm down, they’re not bad. At least not for anyone other than me. Stop smiling like that, because they’re not good, either. For any of us.
I’ve always been able to look at myself honestly. For example, I know everything I can do, everything I can do well, and everything I can’t do, well or otherwise. Sure, I get mad when I can’t do something. Like sing. I admire people with beautiful singing voices, but I’m certainly not one of those people. I can’t sing. Okay, well I CAN sing, but I CAN’T sing well. Not even close to well. But I’ve come to terms with it, and have moved on because there are so many other things I can do, and I do those fabulously.
In keeping with looking at myself honestly, I don’t consider myself old. My birthday is next month. It’s the 34th time I’ve had one. So at the age of 34, I still think of myself as, I don’t know, say…mid-20s at the most. I’m young, though I’ve always thought I was an old soul. But lately, I’ve seen some disturbing things that have made me reconsider how young I really am.
I’ve noticed that people treat me differently. Not like ‘get away from her, she has cooties’ differently, but young people – teenagers, for instance – don’t treat me the way they used to. They treat me like – and this is the part it hurts me to say – a grown up. I’m not one of them anymore. It doesn’t matter that I know the lingo or that I can tell you every word of any Eminem song or that I have heavy metal music on my mp3 player or that I think ripped jeans are cool. None of that matters to them because I’m an adult in their eyes. It makes me sad. Especially since I still think of myself as one of them. Maybe not a teenager, but certainly a young adult. Adults treat me differently as well. They think of me as one of them. They want to talk to me about the weather or politics or insurance policies.
I don’t feel old. While it’s true that I knit and crochet, I do it jamming out to Rob Zombie, Buckcherry, 3 Doors Down, Eminem, ICP, and of course my beloved Hank Williams Sr, among many others. While it’s also true that I carry sewing supplies with me at times, I carry them in a Nike gym bag. While you may hear me talking about how some people have their music way too loud, you’ll also hear me talking about the time I went to a Nelly concert and turned that mother out, or the time I saw Kid Rock live in the same week, or the time I got beer spilled on me at the Ted Nugent concert, where I was front row, right in front of the speaker. I have friends as young as 13 and as old as 85. I love them all equally, and I have things in common with every one of them.
It seems that I’m not young enough to fall in with teens or the twenty-somethings anymore. I’m not old enough to be considered elderly (yet). So where does this leave me? Caught here, between there and there. And it’s here you’ll find me, hanging around, until the time comes to move on to the next phase in my life. Until then, I still consider myself young. And you know what they say. You’re only as old as you feel.