I had a birthday a few weeks back, and I realized that I'm one of the few people on Facebook whose profile includes the year of their birth. At first I thought, "Yes—I own my age! I'm okay with my age! My youth is long gone, but my wisdom grows! I can afford more expensive shoes! My list of fears has diminished (except for karaoke; I still fear karaoke)! I barely care what people think of me! I know how to do so many things now! My children are really good (at the moment)!"
And the next day I thought, "You are a crazy-ass old woman."
And then, because I am re-reading To the Lighthouse, "You are 'nothing but a sponge sopped full of human emotions.'"
And in subsequent days at subsequent times: "You are a woman of a certain age." "You've still got it, gurl." "You've lost it." "You never really had it, whatever it was." "It's not important, whatever it was." "Eat a brownie." And whatnot.
Here I am, just moment ago, 46 years old and with the fine and not-so-fine lines to show it. It is what it is. Also, it should be noted that I am still rocking the same crooked left tooth I've always had, which inspires me to end with this startling insight: I am too old for many things, but I am not too old for...Invisalign.