My birthday is coming up. Not really feeling it. I am no longer an ingénue, a wunderkid, a hot new writer. I hope I hit my stride before Amy Clampitt did. But hey, she hit it big at 63, publishing her first book of poetry and following up with ten more years of poetry success (which, I know, sounds like an oxymoron).
There are athletic 85-year olds striding down the beach and bejeweled 75-year olds shopping for knick knacks.
As they say, aging is better than the alternative.
Like Phil Dunphy in Modern Family, I want to stay hip and childish. Maybe I mean, child-like and full of wonder.
I can be gullible, especially when my kids show me some new technology, my mouth falls open, Are you kidding, Facetime? Skype? You can talk on the phone and see someone? What will they think of next? Flying cars? Moving sidewalks?
Yes, at times, I am more naïve than my kids. They are growing up in New York City, after all, so that gives them an advantage over a kid like me who grew up in the Midwest suburbs. (Of course, ever since Obama became President, the Midwest is hip.)
As I age, I mainly want to stay curious and kind. I don’t want to be a know-it-all or a crabby old lady when I grow older. I love the song by Lee Ann Womack, I Hope You Dance. I love the line, I hope you never lose your sense of wonder.
I hope, as I age, that I never lose my sense of wonder.