When I started writing this blog almost three years ago, people objected to its original name. And I was more than willing to be told I wasn’t middle-aged yet. But is it time to admit that it might be here now?
I’m a communicator by profession; a degree in journalism, followed by a 25+ year career in public relations and communications. As a young greenhorn, that meant interviewing supervisors, managers and even site directors. These were men – and yes, back then they were pretty much all men – much older than me. A few years later, when I accompanied a company president across the country on a whirlwind multi-province series of town halls, conversation was difficult. I was the same age as his children.
Somewhere along the line, something changed. I began getting closer in age to those managers and directors. Eventually, I had children and we had something to discuss. More recently, something strange has been occurring, because somehow, miraculously my children are now the same age as theirs.
But I still think of myself as one of the youngest in the room. That is, until a few years ago, when I was in a room of senior executives and a handful of younger people like myself. One of the vice presidents made a joke about an old television show. I laughed along with them, because while the show had ended when I was still preschooler, I had seen it in reruns.
And then it happened. My colleagues – you know, the other young ones – looked puzzled. They had no idea what the joke was. It was like a giant lightning bolt came down to make a major announcement just for me. I was no longer one of the younger ones. I identified with the older ones. It was a sobering moment.
I shook it off and continued along. After all, you’re only as young as you feel, right. It worked for a few years. And then, out for dinner with colleagues, wishing one of our flock well on her new journey, we were discussing the new Star Wars movie. It turned out, I was the only one at the table old enough to have seen the original one in theatres – by many years. Another sobering moment.
About a year ago, I hired a new person to work in department. She’s young, just out of school with only a few years of experience. I really like her and think she has a lot to offer. That is, until I discovered her mother is younger than I am. I’m having a little more trouble shaking that off.
I remember my Dad coming home one night from work – I must have been a university student home for the summer, or possibly a newly-minted graduate. He started talking about how strange it was – he had a new boss, who was younger than him. It was the first time it had happened. I recall thinking it must be a strange sensation, but then put it away. After all, that only happened when you got really old.
I’m not quite there yet, but one of the final nails in the coffin came this week when my sector’s team got together for our quarterly meeting. I learned that one of my colleagues – ane executive vice president was having his 30 year high school reunion. Cool, I thought (a young word, right?!). This year would have been mine too. So he’s the same age as me. About 10 minutes later, we learned he’d graduated early, at the age of 16. So this successful colleague, who I think of as someone to look up to is three years younger than me. Gulp.
But age is just a stage of mind. The years may be flowing by quickly (and the eyes may need a little assistance), but I’m still young at heart. While I don’t pull all-nighters – something I was admittedly never good at – I still hike, I do yoga, I have proven to friends that I can still do a cartwheel. And I enjoy life.
So bring it on. No matter what the calendar (or the mirror) says, I’m not willing to admit to middle age just yet.
