I was sitting around the other day with my gal friends, sharing tales about the weekend. We all seemed to have gone through the same delightful experience, albeit in different ways. One sat with friends and sipped with friends all day, one went to an outdoor concert, and I party hopped. We all were relaxed, having a good time, and probably drank a little too much, for we all said, “I’m too old for this.”
I’m sure the situations were on the same astral plane as many others “my age.” Time flows, excitement and comfort wraps around us, the atmosphere make us feel good, and before you know it we are waking up the next morning with a headache, saying, “I’m too old for this.”
This psychic phenomenon is not limited to girls sharing drinking stories. This magical phrase echoes around us all the time. My husband and I spent one glorious day working outside. The air was cool, the dogs well-behaved, and we planted flowers in pots and mowed the lawn and fixed broken things and worked in the yard a little. Maybe more than just a little, for the next morning we both woke up, joints stiff, hands scratched, and twinges in the small of our back, saying, “I’m too old for this.”
Just think of how many times you have said this. In fun and in fear. A mother with a house full of 10-year-old girls staying overnight, giggling and talking till wee hours of the morning; college kids downstairs, friends over, drinking beer and playing cards, getting louder and rowdier with each hand; babysitting more than one of anything younger than five. You’re trying to be nice. You’re trying to be patient. But hours into the melee you think, “I’m too old for this.”
As I always like to point out, age is in your point of view. When the ladies shared their drinking stories, I wanted to stand and cheer. There were late 30s mingling with mid 40s mingling with late 50s. Yet all three of us unconsciously slipped back into our early 20s, losing track of time and responsibilities and all the trimmings that go with it, at least for an hour or two.
Were we trying to recapture our youth? Were we silly old goats trying to dance the dance of the sprite in a tutu that was too tight? Or were we just human beings who never forgot how to have fun?
By now we all know that life is what you make of it. Jobs and kids and finances and health problems plague us all. Some can pick up and make a clean slate of everything; others have to muddle through the chaos and hope they squeeze out the other side sane.
So when they say laughter is the best medicine, it really is. Sharing stories, playing games, dancing and prancing and acting silly all are ways to exorcise the demons we create for ourselves.
What’s wrong with not acting our age? What is our age, anyway?
If judged by our bodies, it might be ancient. If judged by our responsibilities it might be grown up. If judged by our dreams, it might be juvenile. Somehow there has to be a way to unite all sides of ourselves into one happy camper.
So why not let go of those inhibitions once in a while? Why not drop the fear of embarrassing yourself (or others) and laugh with others? It’s not like you haven’t been embarrassed before, or never will be again. But you would be amazed the different feeling you get when you are a part of the joke, not a victim of it.
The great thing about taking chances like these, and saying “I’m too old for this” is that you find you are really not too old for anything. The safe choices are usually general ones: take a class about something you always wanted to know about; buy yourself a journal (or a laptop) and start recording those thoughts you thought you’d never get out of your system. Volunteer at a shelter or sanctuary and make friends with the animals. Dance like a crazy person in front of the speakers to your favorite music.
Oh sure, you say. You go dance in front of the speakers. You wear the tutu that’s too tight. I hate to admit it, but I already do. And I can’t tell you how scary and liberating it is. And, even if I pull a muscle dancing the “hoochi coo”, it’s a great feeling to know that no one will ever forget the sight of me “hoochi cooing” in a too-tight tutu.
Especially with a glass of wine in my hand.