What makes you feel old? I’m not old, I’m vintage

Among all the falsehoods we hear about getting older, the most significant one isn’t about the wisdom or elegance that supposedly comes with grey hairs. No, the biggest myth is that getting old is a slow journey, a smooth decline you gracefully navigate. It’s not. It’s a series of unexpected, often humorous, surprises that leave you stunned in the glaring light of reality, questioning when you actually swapped your leather or jean jacket for a zip up hoodie. Aging; it’s mostly about constantly asking, “Could you repeat that, dear?”

Forget about birthdays; they’re merely scheduled reminders. Welcome to the golden years, where a good night’s sleep is guaranteed to leave you with a souvenir: a mysteriously sore shoulder and a stiff neck that you can not turn. You know you’ve successfully entered the golden years when your husband’s signature scent has officially been upgraded from the classic cowboy mystique of Stetson to the potent, muscle-warming aroma of A535.

Perhaps the most definitive moment, the one that confirmed I was officially ‘seasoned,’ was the realization that my internal alarm clock had become solely dedicated to a 4 AM pee break. It’s an appointment I cannot miss. This biological summons is swiftly shadowed by its evil twin: the full-body, internal summer campfire, otherwise known as the hot flash. You wake up, throw off the blankets because you’re suddenly hotter than the surface of the sun.

Your Personal History is Now an Antique Roadshow

The most humbling experiences, though, don’t come from my own body, but rather from the world showing me my age. It’s those subtle, and sometimes not-so-subtle, reminders that the things I grew up with are now seen as ancient history. It is when you are filling out an online form and have to pick you birth year from a drop-down list. I began scrolling. And scrolling. I went past the 2000s, zipped through the 90s, and flew by the 80s. I scrolled so far back to find my birth year that I realized I was born around the time Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.  Which is now considered history!

This feeling is only amplified by my teenager, who refers to my childhood as “the olden days.”

The real indication that you’re officially advancing in age is when ‘ma’am’  or sir becomes your new standard title, a verbal wake-up call from a young cashier at the store. The first time it happens, you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see your mother or father. By the tenth time, you simply exhale and come to terms with your situation. It’s a slippery slope from that point on. One moment you’re wobbling your way home from the bar after it closes, and the next you’re seriously considering the 55-plus breakfast deal at Denny’s.

My “oldies but goodies” playlist now features Bon Jovi, Madonna, and Robert Palmer. These aren’t oldies; they are the soundtrack to my school dances. Yet, to the wider world, they’ve been relegated to the ‘classic rock’ or ‘80s throwback’ stations. Congratulations, you’ve officially moved into the ‘ancient’ category when the music that felt rebellious and fresh is now used in commercials selling retirement plans. Remember when “vintage” meant your aunt’s porcelain dolls?

You think scrunchies and acid-washed jeans are a new style statement? Sweetheart, I lived through them the first time, back when ‘acid-wash’ were a new technology and my scrunchie had to tame a serious case of  big hair.  I can still smell the hair spay!

If you ever had to rewind a cassette tape with a pencil because your Walkman was eating it, congratulations: your knowledge of music technology is now officially an antique skill, right up there with waiting for dial up. If you know what an eight track tape is, then you must be even older.

The Unsolicited Senior Discount

One of the most shocking experiences can be the unexpected ones. I was dining at a restaurant when my waiter suddenly asked, “Do you qualify for the senior discount?” I was taken aback and just sat there for a moment. I had to resist the temptation to ask if he needed to get his eyesight checked. I definitely don’t look 65, and am a few years away from 60.

Conclusion

It’s a world of tiny cuts. It’s hearing a song you love and realizing it’s older than your  oldest child. It’s realizing that “Jessie’s Girl,” the timeless anthem of unrequited love, is 44 years old. That means Jessie’s girl is now probably in her sixties. She’s old enough to have a grown kid of her own who still doesn’t understand why Rick Springfield wanted his mom so badly.

These moments, these little paper cuts to the ego, are the true markers of time. They’re frustrating, hilarious, and humbling. They remind me that while my spirit might feel 35, my birth certificate and my bladder tell a very different story. So, what about you? What makes you feel old?