Eight is Not Great

I have never had a lot of trouble with the 0 years. Turning 10 was exciting. Turning 20 was anticlimactic since 21 was the year that would make me all the way into an adult. Turning 30 was not such a big deal. Turning 40 was only slightly more painful.

There’s a lot of build up to those years and in my experience so far it all ends up being much ado about nothing.

Ultimately you are just a day older, amirite?

For me, the 8s are the hard years.

1-2-3 are the “earlies” -early 20s, 30s, 40s…

4-5-6 (and if you use your imagination a bit 7) are the “mids.”

But there is no disputing that the 8s are “late”.

This year I turn 48. That sounds quite a bit more ancient than 47 doesn’t it?

Hell yes, it does.

When I was on the cusp of turning 38, I said something about some future thing I wanted to do to my then father-in-law.  He responded that it was probably too late to do that (I can’t remember what – get my PhD, learn to knit, something huge I’m sure) since I was almost 40 which was almost 50 which was pretty close to retirement.

Insert slack-jawed shocked face here.

The looming 38 was enough ugh for me at the time. That whole accelerating boulder of age barreling down the hillside at me was more than I could bear.

I was not happy. So not happy.

And here I am at the next 8.

I’m not at all unhappy about where I am. I am healthy, happy, financially sound. My children mostly act like I’m the adult in charge.

But damn, 48.

For the record, 8 is a crappy number anyway.

Yeah, it looks like a snowman.  It’s infinity on it’s side.  It’s magical.

Not so much.

It’s the beginning of the end, I tell you. The threshold to the next level.  Trip over 8 and you find yourself up to your eyeballs in the next 0.

Even the Schoolhouse Rock people couldn’t make 8 fun.  Does anyone even remember this? “Figure eight as double four, figure four as half of eight.” Seriously? Such a blech number and now I am all confused about it, too.  Zero has far a better song than this…

I’ve been saying I was 48 for the last six months.  Rounding up, practicing, getting myself used to the sting of it all. It’s still kinda sting-y and now I keep forgetting how old I actually am.  Which I guess happens to the elderly, right?

I know this is old news and anyone over the age of 35 (maybe 38) will say the same thing, but I don’t feel (inside) any different or grown-upper than I did when I was in my 30s. I still weirdly want the approval of my parents. I still look around for an adultier adult to tell me what to do when something involves tools, ironing, or a lot of money. I still feel like I have time to start Crossfitting or do enough yoga to be able to raise my leg higher than knee level.  I could still learn to knit or get my PhD.

I know realistically 48 isn’t all that old and there’s still tons of time to do all of those things (except the Crossfitting, I am totally not doing that ever).  Heck, my grandfather is turning 97 next month and he’s not sweating his entry to the “lates.” And I’m not even halfway to THERE.

I guess I could avoid the whole thing by just rounding up some more and claiming to be 50. Then people can (hopefully) tell me I look terribly young for my age and I’d have a few extra years in the bank.

Women are expected to lie about their age after a certain point, right? (That is possibly the least Girl Power thing I have ever written here.)

This is actually a not terrible plan.

In the scheme of things, I think a fake 0 might be way less painful than a real 8.  Plus, better song.

About Kristen

Me: Kristen, more than 40-something (don't make me face the number), suburban mom of 2, working girl, therapeutic writer, proprietor of an emptying nest Addictions: Iced Coffee, FOMO resulting in twitchy compulsion to check FB/Instagram/Pinterest in an unending loop, texting, hugging my one child while Snapchatting the other and yelling at my dog

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s