There’s a switch that occurs. A flip of fortune, if you will. One day you’re young, then suddenly—and without warning—you’re considered old.
Seated in the lounge patio of local restaurant, I spoke with two of my closest friend about age groups, specifically middle age women. I referred to one girl as a reference point as someone so far from where I was in my life. Oh but she’s 35, I said in a tone indicating we couldn’t be farther than the hemispheric poles. My sister and friend look at me in simultaneous disbelief.
Jasmine: Bianca, you BOTH are in the same age group: 30-35. We all are.
Brianna: Pawh! [<—-That is an inarticulate scoff indicating complete disbelief at my lack of self-awareness.]
And then it happened. I had a bipolar moment where I wanted to simultaneously flip over our lounge table in righteous indignation while laughing at the fact that I’m living in a place in my mind that still believes it’s okay to listen to pop music, dance in parking lots, and use words that those crazy, young kids are using.
I refuse to be THAT girl who insists on being perpetually 22, shops at stores targeted for teens, and refuses to admit her age.
There is a refinement and maturity I was looking for from an older woman when I was 22. I wanted someone to talk to who knew culture, had fun, and passionately loved the God and his people. So I may not be refined, but I am maturing. I hope my age demographic of 30-35 year olds can rise up and be the leaders we need—inside and outside of the church—like Paul urged Titus [2:3].
If we meet one day and I reference Vanilla Ice and Palm Pilots, just know I’m owning my age and want to share in the joys of being 30-35. 🙂
