Ramblings on Middle Age

I was just glancing at headlines online when I saw one reading "Middle-aged Mom Triumphs." Apparently a middle-aged mom qualified for the US Olympic Swimming Team. I normally don't read sports news, but I had to click this headline immediately. I had to know: When is middle-aged?

According to Yahoo! Sports, 41. Crisis averted. I'm not there...yet.

So in this age of medical advances and technology, we only expect an Olympic athlete to make it to 82? I thought we were all planning on living to at least 100, hence the likelihood of Social Security and 401Ks not being enough to support us into our twilight years. Heck, if we're only living to 80 what's all the fuss? Maybe we can keep eating junk food and bring that down to 75. Even better. But I digress.

41 is middle-aged. This leaves me fewer than ten years before I begin my downward spiral into dementia and Depends. Less than ten years to do all the things I need to do while I'm "young" (and there's a relative term to be sure). I almost feel like I shouldn't even do anything at this point. No sense traveling the world now. I have to save something to do in my impending retirement.

All that talk about 40 being the new 30 had me excited; made me feel like I was perhaps living in the new 20. And to be able to redo my 20s...well, that's almost too much to dream, isn't it? Alas, I'm in my current 30s and in less than ten I'll not only be over the hill, but pickin' up speed on the way down. Of course, does that put me on top of the hill now?

I don't think so. I think I'm still climbing the other side. I think we have this roller coaster life. We push and push up the hill, click-click-click, and just when we realize we're hitting the apex, the highpoint, the vista, the pinnacle, we go careening down out of control faster than we ever imagined. And just as we catch our breath and come to terms with the twists and turns, maybe even starting to enjoy ourselves, we come to an abrupt stop and are told to get out. It's over. Let someone else ride.

It's enough to make to make you sigh.

No, I won't sigh. I'm bound and determined to live to 150. I have several more years until middle age. Whew. Problem solved.

The Masochism of Attending a Wedding Alone

Is there any greater form of masochism than for a single thirty-something woman to attend a wedding alone?

I went to a wedding this weekend. The couple in question were each other's first marriage having decided to wait for the right one, the perfect match, the one they knew was the best choice and not the settled-for mate. That being the case, the bride was 41 and the groom 51.

The wedding itself was beautiful and very touching. Everyone was so overwhelmed with joy and love that there wasn't a dry eye in the place, self included. But I couldn't help but wonder, will I be over 40 before I get married too? The minister made a few cracks about thinking the bride would never get married, as if she'd never find someone who would have her instead of the other way around. If I don't get married until I'm 40 will the officiator make cracks at my expense too? Granted he made cracks about the groom too. But the comments about the groom warranted chuckles. The comments about the bride caused worried nods of agreement. A man who waits has chosen to stay boyish longer, and isn't it swell he's finally decided to grow up a little. A woman who waits has failed at catching a spouse. There's no way she'd voluntarily wait. It's out of everyone's realm of possibility.

A part of me wants to be optimistic; wants to use this couple as an example that it is never too late to find love. It can happen to anybody at any stage in life. But a part of me is really depressed about finding love later in life. I'll be the bride no one thought would get married. I'll be the "oh finally, we can stop worrying about her" bride. And if I ever have a child, it's too late for me to be the cool, young mom.

I'm the one responsible for introducing the bride and groom to each other, and as such was something of a wedding reception celebrity. Everyone knew who I was and everyone applauded me when I was pointed out during the toast. And I truly was ecstatic for the couple. But it was bittersweet, for there I sat, alone. I didn't even get to dance, my favorite thing in the world to do, at the reception for lack of a partner and no one asking. I've never been in a room filled with so much happiness and love while feeling so utterly alone in my life.

I'm still pretty shaken by the whole experience. I think I'm just tired of waiting. How long can you wait for love? Or, more importantly, how long can you keep yourself hopeful while you wait? Another ten years seems terribly daunting. Of course waiting ten years is better than twenty.

And why. actually, should any of this matter? What forces outside of myself have brainwashed me into thinking I've failed at being a female because I'm over 30 and have not landed a husband? Day to day I have a pretty good life. I know I'm a good person. So why does life seem so empty now? It's because I was witnessed this weekend to seeing how much fuller it has the potential to be.

I Couldn't Help But Wonder

I've decided it's my goal in life to buy all the journals Borders sells and then never finish filling any of them.

I have this internal Sex and the City-esque narrator constantly in my head. It being one of the few times I left home without my MacBook, I thought I should get some paper immediately and let it speak.

And as I sat at the bookstore cafe sipping my overpriced coffee, I couldn't help but wonder: Do all thirty-something women hear their thoughts in Sarah Jessica Parker's voice?