EDITOR’S NOTE
By Marie Elium
I recently turned 63. My dad is 89, so I consider myself late-middle age.
I rethought this optimistic characterization after coming across a magazine article that asked, “How old are you in your head? The essay, plus the fact that I had recently compared stripper names with two friends I’ve known for 45 years, got me thinking: how old am I, really?
If you don’t know your stripper name, or didn’t pursue that profession, it’s the name of your childhood pet and the street you grew up on. Mine’s Brandy Remsen.
Fluffy Leadwell, Licorice Vincent and I cracked ourselves up over our stripper names (margaritas may have been a factor), and then talk drifted to more age-appropriate matters: retirement, family, travel, sore feet. But were they more age-appropriate? Or just more appropriate?
If I’m comparing stripper names at 63, then it’s appropriate for a 63-year-old — on equal footing, so to speak, as in our discussion about which pricey sneakers are best for plantar fasciitis.
Numbers Game
I don’t know how to act my age because, in my head, I’m still 30 — an immature 30, for sure — but not what I expected 63 to seem like. How can I like Cap’n Crunch cereal (with Crunch Berries, of course) when I have friends in their 70s?
Act your age. Age is just a number. You’re only as old as you feel. It’s a lot to keep straight.
Some days I’m 15, insecure about my abilities and accomplishments. On other days, I’m a confident 40-year-old, bursting with optimism, untempered by scary illnesses and crushing losses. I don’t remember much about being 3, but I feel like a kid when I find a fossil in a creekbed or see a shooting star.
It’s tricky when what’s in our head doesn’t match what’s outside it. Maybe I should have read that magazine article; I only saw the first paragraphs before I got blocked by the online paywall.
Here’s what I know: getting older is a privilege and a pain. I’m shocked by my wrinkles and puffy parts and how much my body looks like my mom’s body when she was old. Or was she just in her 60s?
Not long ago, I found myself improbably sharing a hot tub at my fitness center with four college guys who had an animated debate about which was more difficult: gaining weight or losing weight. (Gaining, hands down). For men, it’s tough to be 20 and skinny.
Age made me an invisible eavesdropper, giving me insight and access to their world. Their hot tub discourse was amusing but reflected both their age and limited life experience. When we get older, things get messier and heavier.
Our theme this issue is “Break Away.” Tom Batiuk on our cover broke away from stereotypes by tackling thought-provoking topics in his groundbreaking “Funky Winkerbean” and “Crankshaft” comics. Local broadcaster Ted Alexander is breaking new ground in a familiar way, finding an appreciative audience for his oldies radio program.
My advice? Getting your inside self to match your outside self is a waste of time. Both are okay; rarely will they mesh. Does a 63-year-old need a stripper name? Probably not. Do I want a stripper name? Absolutely.
In case you were wondering (or worried), I’m keeping my clothes on. For now.
Marie/Brandy
