Seated with a group of friends in a restaurant, I suddenly heard a girlish squeal. Somebody one of us hadn’t seen for quite some time had entered the restaurant with her husband to celebrate her birthday. In high spirits, we sang a round of “Happy Birthday to You”—but how old was she? The best I could muster was somewhere between 45-70.
I remembered back when we were five or six years old. We knew instinctively who was even one year, and often one month, older or younger than us. It meant something. Now, it’s often hard to get even the decade right!
She had the youthful physique of someone around 35, but I knew she had to be older than that because her face had a fair amount of character creases and her eyes seemed to shine with at least a few extra years of life in them…45? But then, I realized, I have some friends who have had facelifts (or a great face cream and genetics) who are as old as 70 who had just about the same number of laugh-lines on their faces.
When she spoke with us about changing to a new career with the exuberance of a 20 year-old, I realized that I had no idea where to place her on the age spectrum—that all my old notions of what it means to be any particular age no longer hold, even though I am in this age range, myself.
Finally, I asked. Happy birthday 56 year old!
Carol Orsborn