Growing Older

I was listening to the Oasis song of the same name (Growing Older) the other day, and then I looked in the mirror, and I realized I knew the lyrics by heart. For years I had what you would call a “baby face,” one of those ageless wonders people used to talk about with envy. When I said I was 18, people believed me with no questions whatsoever, even when I was 20, 24, 28… and I guess I took that for granted, because the other day I told someone I was 21 (not even 18, mind you) and I think they’re still laughing right now. So, I looked in the mirror just after listening to the song (it was a coincidence, believe me), and I saw what they saw. A 36-year old man with many advancing white hairs scattered in with the previously dark brown concoction that was my hair before. A 36-year old man with sunshine crinkles spreading out from his eyes when seen in the right light, with defined lines under the eyes that, while not bags, will resemble bags in the not far off future. A 36-year old man who is finally assessing himself for who he is, not for what he imagines himself to be.

“Am I cracking up, or just getting older?”

When I was 7 or 8 I remember asking my mom what happened when people got old (and by old I meant the age she was then, which was close to the age I am now), and she said they become better versions of themselves because they see things more clearly than they have before, and I knew she was hurting at the time (she and my father would soon get a divorce), so maybe she was imparting wisdom. But it went right over my head. I mean, I was 8 years old, so what did it really matter to me, this time period that might never come. That’s how 8 year olds feel. And as I got older, I remember thinking that she was wrong. It all just felt so spontaneous, the process of growing up. One minute I was 12 and the next I was 21, and there wasn’t much difference between the two, except that I could legally drink when I got to the latter age. Then I got married, though, and everything changed.

Marriage can do things to a person. It’s kind of like being the president. Have you noticed how that job just ages people? Seemingly young and vibrant going in, but old and feeble coming out. That kind of thing doesn’t just happen by accident over a four year period. It’s the result of stress. You know, doctors are right. Stress is the biggest denominator when it comes to health. This was my first marriage, by the way, which was entirely stressful for the both of us, and it transformed me from a carefree 21 year old into a shell of myself, constantly stressed, constantly worried (for a myriad of reasons), and worn down. That’s when I got my first white hair that crept its way into my hair, so stealthy and then so obvious. I was 23 years old. I knew it wasn’t standard for a 23 year old to get white hair (we’re all not Steve Martin), but I didn’t make the connection to stress. It was just life.

“We’re not cracking up. We’re just getting older.”

But now life is something entirely different, and I’m older. These white hairs are earned, even if stress isn’t my constant companion anymore. I had to get rid of all that stress, for serious health reasons, but these hairs and these lines aren’t going anywhere. Our bodies aren’t as resilient when we get older, but that’s okay for me now. I don’t want to be 21 anymore. The 21 year old me was so incomplete, so utterly ignorant about the world and about life in general. I know more now, and it shows in my face, in these eyes that convey all of it in a glance. And I’m glad to see that, to know that I’m a 36-year old man and that most people can see that. I’ve earned my stripes, even if they happen to be white.

Sam