the privilege of growing older - true story

I am 32 years old today.  

I actually had to check.  I wasn't sure if I was turning 31 or 32.  I think that might be the definition of being old.  If you can't remember how old you actually are.

I used to lie about my age.  I started really early, like right out of high school. 

I figured if I started early people would never catch on.

On my birthday people would ask how old I was turning.  One year I'd tell them 25, the next year I'd tell the same person 24.  I figured I'd confuse them early so that when I was turning 40 or 50 down the line, no one would ever know.

It's not that I had a problem with getting older.  But whenever someone asked my age, there was always some judgment that went along with it.  Some behavior to age ratio they'd be trying to figure out.  It bothered me, the labels and judgements that went with some ages.

Then one day I flipped over this bottle cap:

Around that time a friend of mine had recently passed away.  She was 28.  

I instantly thought of her when I read this.  

And I realized how unappreciative it was for me to be so self-involved to lie about my age. I really should be incredibly grateful for each day that is given to me. So I stopped - cold turkey.  (It wasn't easy.)  

People know how old I am now.  I'm actually quite surprised how many people still ask me. But I answer.  

And I don't care what they end up thinking.

Maybe that's the definition of being old. :)

LMF