Ready for life after (kids leave for) college
I’m at that awkward age – old enough to know better, but too
young for senior discounts.
I’m too old for bikinis, too young for granny panties.
Too old for Clearasil, too young for Geritol.
There are so many, many things that make me feel that I’m at
that in-between age.
Ready for life after (kids leave for) college
I’m at that awkward age – old enough to know better, but too young for senior discounts.
I’m too old for bikinis, too young for granny panties.
Too old for Clearasil, too young for Geritol.
There are so many, many things that make me feel that I’m at that in-between age.
Half the time I feel no older than I did in high school; about 40 percent of the time, I’m maybe in my 30s; the last 10 percent, I feel elderly, especially on the days after I’ve been pulling weeds.
When I hear a song I like, see wildflowers in bloom, or have a wonderful meal with friends, I truly forget how old I am. On the other hand, when I read the names of celebrities that I don’t recognize, or see that some fool is bringing back the maxidress, I feel a little bit old.
When life is going well and I’m happy, I could be any age, at least inside my head. When it’s stressful and sad, I’m suddenly an old geezer, at least to myself.
I’m betwixt and between. At almost the half-century mark, I have the strangest feeling that I’m in my second adolescence.
Just like when I was a teenager, life is becoming uncertain and changeable. I really am not sure where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing in the near future.
That’s because of a life-changing experience that is looming. In a little more than two years, my younger son will be (hopefully) out of the house and going to college. It is just now starting to sink in that this is huge.
Mind you, I am not worried about the empty-nest syndrome in the least. In fact, I’m really excited about this, much as I love my children.
When my son flies the coop, I will have some choices, for the first time in many, many years. I could move to Tahiti. I could be a permanent tourist, living in an RV and toodling around the country. Or I could stay put.
I could continue as a freelance writer. Or I could get a real job.
Or I could do nothing at all. Yeah, in my dreams.
I will have time to take art lessons, learn to tango, train my dog, and of course, that perpetual dream of all journalists, write the great American novel. Or I could simply spend my remaining years reading trashy novels and eating bonbons.
It will be up to me and no one else. What a concept.
I realize I don’t have to make any radical decisions right this second, but I’m beginning to consider the possibilities that will come along in the next few years. It’s a little bit freeing; a little bit terrifying. Just like adolescence.
A whole new world is going to open up to me when my youngest son leaves home, and I’m thinking that it might be a pretty good thing.
However, it will mean that I will have to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.
That’s never easy, no matter what age you are.
