At My Age, You’d Think

At my age, you'd think: In just under 15 days from now, I'll turn 35 years old. If, as many have asserted, 30 is the new 20, then without benefit of drugs or time travel, I'm actually getting younger. Which is how I feel, so that's a bonus.

I want for very little. I don't want the body I had when I was 25, lithe yes but fragile certainly. I don't want the boyfriend I had ten years ago, although up until just a few weeks ago, I was certain I did. And I don't want the feeling I had at that age that all was possibility and everything was ahead of me, because while fewer things may be possible, there are good things behind me and better ahead and I wouldn't trade the memories, scars, experiences and adventures for anything else in the world.

And I'm not at all worried that I'm not keeping up with my historical peers. As Tom Lehrer once waggishly noted, "It is a sobering thought, for example, that when Mozart was my age he had been dead for two years."

Lehrer was 37 when he said that. Alas, poor Wolfgang. He started de-composing at my age, and I'm just beginning to find the music.

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