Holding off on my own setting sun


I was in a meeting with an editor this past week and found myself telling them I was 47. She responded with a blank stare and repeated, “47? You do not look 47.” I thanked her and we went on with our meeting. Funny thing is I actually can’t be younger than my 47 years. Why is that?

Because I am actually 46.

Yeah, wow. I joke that I know have to stop and think about my age but it turns out even when I do, I am wrong. And if I am wrong, why did I err on the side of being older? Makes no sense. Then again, most of the time neither do I.

When I realized my mistake later I figure, meh, doesn’t matter too much, I will be 47 in a couple of months anyway. But then again, I stopped and realized it actually does matter. I pissed away a year, at least mentally.

Now don’t get me wrong. Forty-seven is my chronological age. I think of myself in a continuous state of arrested development mentally. I stopped there around 28. Emotionally, I’ve never really gotten past 12. But 47? Why did I jump the gun so soon? And more importantly, when the f#%& did I get so old?

So I am not at the sunset of my life, more like late afternoon. There are an awful lot of things I have not done and a lot that I would like to do. So I am taking my 47th year (after all, I have a good 14 months left of it, and shake things up.

Much of my teens and 20s were taken up with un-diagnosed mental illness. My 30s and 40s were taken up getting a handle on my illness and helping out my family, mainly my Mom and then later my Dad, through some of their health issues (aka playing the dutiful, single, co-dependent daughter.) Now here I am at “47.” And here at “47” I have decided that being deliberate in my life and my choices is more important ever.

So by the time the sun sets on 47 I want to be sure that my 48th sunrise finds me in good stead and be deliberate in my choices. I choose to live a life with no extraneous bills, no extraneous (well, not too extraneous) pounds and no extraneous relationships.

Now, currently I have all those extras and more. Let’s just hope when I arise on the morning of my 48th birthday (or maybe my actual 47th) I will have fewer if none. And let’s hope that that next time I err on my age it is with fewer years rather than more.

Actually, let’s split the difference between my maturity level and my chronological age and go with 37. Yep, that’ll do nicely. I’m 37.  And thank you, I DO LOOK good for 37. Damn good.



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