Aspen Princess: 45 going on 20
Since the last time I wrote to you guys, I’ve had a birthday.
Yep, that’s right, I turned 45 on Sunday. I mean, how is that even possible? I keep feeling like someone hasn’t done the math right.
Here are some of the reasons why I can’t believe I’m middle aged:
Most of my friends are at least 10 years younger than me, and yet, most of them are also more mature, more focused, more serious and more driven. They work really hard, they pay their bills on time and they probably even open their mail rather than put it in a pile in a wicker basket with a lid so they don’t have to look at it until that one day, every 3 months or so, when they decide to clean it out. OK, every six months. They know what they want out of life and are on a clear path to go get it. I’m still sort of in that, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” stage. Or rather, I know exactly what I want to be when I grow up, it just hasn’t happened yet. And now I’m kind of thinking, maybe if I’d been more driven/focused/hardworking when I was the age of most of my friends (early 30s) I might have gotten where I was going by now.
I don’t appear to be aging; at least not at a rate that startles me when I look in the mirror. Plus, I’m fortunate enough to have been middle-aged in the Botox era when any signs of aging can be quickly and easily banished with the small prick of a needle and a few hundred bucks. It’s not just that, though. I still dress young, though I do realize there is a fine line between looking hip and on trend and becoming one of those crazy Aspen ladies who cruises around the downtown streets in pigtails and Hawaiian shirts and mismatched pants thinking she is still cool, but really she just has a little brain damage on account of all the drugs she did when she first moved to town. Plus, it’s a little disconcerting when I see babies running around in clothes I would actually wear: leggings with polka dots, Ugg boots and hoodie ponchos — I so totally love that look!
I don’t appear to be maturing: It’s no big secret that I relate much better to teenagers than I do people my own age. When I volunteered for YouthEntity and taught my writing workshop to local high school kids, everyone thought I was being all noble and whatnot, but the truth is I just wanted some cool people to hang out with — and I got my wish. I would way prefer teen angst to the discourse of my peers, which usually involves the minutia of raising small children, which I’m sure is super fascinating when you’re going through it. I actually really like Taylor Swift and get a little choked up every time I hear “I Knew You Were Trouble” because my 10-year old niece MacKenzie and I memorized all the words when she was here for spring break last year (Sing with me, “And the saddest fear, comes creeping in, when you never loved me, or her, or anyone, yeah!”). And I mean, come on, “Shake it Off” is a mantra we can all live by.
It helps that I’m married to a giant 10-year-old who also does not appear to be aging or maturing and has a full head of hair. Just the other day, he came home with a shiner after getting smacked in the eye with a hockey stick, ate almost an entire pepperoni pizza by himself and then sat and played video games on his Kindle for like three hours straight after watching “Kung Fu Panda” for the fiftieth time.
The Aspen Princess doesn’t want to grow up. Email your love to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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