Another 365 Days

Well, I made it. Okay, I have almost made it. As long as I don't get maimed in some freak accident on the way to Target today, I will have lived for 35 years. Depending on your age, you will look at that number and either say "OMG, you are like so grossly old and nasty." or " Wow young lady, you have a long time to figure this whole life thing out." I feel like both are pretty spot on with how I feel right now. Some days I feel grossly old, like yesterday when I let my naturally curly hair be free from the burning smell of a straightener. I was embracing who I really am, which is someone with genetically crazed hair. When my preteen daughter came home, she found me in the bathroom scrunching (is that still a thing??) my rambunctious curls.

"What do you think?" I asked her, as I twirled around like a proud toddler with a new party dress on.
"Is that on purpose?" she asked.
"Yeah. My hair is naturally curly so I'm not flat ironing it today. How does it look?"
Chuckling, she said "Umm, you're really going out with it like that?" 
I told her to leave and proceeded to mope as I looked at myself in the mirror. Then I tried to fix the manic twirls on top of my head. I should have just shaved it all off and called it a Halloween costume. In that moment I felt old and really uncool.

Other days I feel like it is possible that I have a few more decades to figure this all out and that I am in the prime of my venture here on planet Earth. I can usually hold onto that feeling until I see myself naked in a full length mirror or hear myself saying "I don't care if she likes it or not. She is taking piano because kids who play an instrument do better in school." Better than what? I don't know, but that's what old people say and I'm there. The youngish feeling comes when I am hanging out with my brother and/or sister and strangers will say "Who's the oldest?" I selfishly point fingers and live on that high until the truth comes out. It's me. The midget of the bunch who still gets carded for beer, but has to dye her progressively graying hair.

I am more confident and less confident at almost 35. I'm happier and less happy. I'm mature and a completely immature asshole. While the number I am forced to list on surveys has gone up, I feel like I am the same person I was ten years ago except I have a different set of goals and a new set of worries under my belt. I don't have to concern myself with potty training or peeing on a stick in hopes that we can grow our family. Those days are gone. Now I watch my oldest put on makeup while she shares secrets with me about cute boys and going to movies without me. I'm not sure why she would want to, I'm really fun. I don't worry about money the way I used to when my husband and I were first married, but now I worry whether we have saved enough for a catastrophe or for college. Kind of the same thing. Getting old is weird and I have a love/hate relationship with it. Knowing what I want to be when I grow up is just as hard as not having a fucking clue. Being forced to shop for appropriate adult attire is just as hard as being followed around Contempo Casuals (remember that store???) by some super chic cashier. I'm 35, almost. And I'm still trying to figure this whole thing out. Perhaps that's the point.