I am not exactly sure how this happened, but it seems that I am getting older. Not exactly ancient, but I definitely appear to be creeping outside the range of what could be considered middle-aged.

I must admit that there were hints all along that I was aging, so it shouldn’t have come as a complete surprise. I started getting discounts all over the place, just for being “mature”. Those I didn’t mind. I decided to retire from teaching, and suddenly the Social Security people started sending me money. That was okay, too. Suddenly Medicare became my “first” insurance. Sweet.

But there are cruel moments as well. When you are (correctly) identified as your granddaughter’s grandmother, it does hurt a bit, even if it’s true.

As Dorothy Parker once cleverly noted, “As a beauty I am not a star,/ There are others more handsome by far./ But my face-I don’t mind it, because I’m behind it,/ It’s the people out front that I jar.”

You do forget what you look like. And even while looking into the mirror (not a magnifying mirror, God forbid!) you see yourself through your own filter and think that things aren’t all that bad.

But when people start treating you like you’re a—good grief—Senior Citizen, it is a shock to the system. Inside I’m still that 17-year-old girl at Woodstock (who went to the 50th anniversary celebration of that concert). I’m still that young mom with two kids (who will soon both be in their forties).

I’m still trying to keep up with the music and movies and news of the day (but still find myself listening to Classic Rock on the radio). If that means I’m old, I’m going with it.

I’m in denial, I guess, about being so vintage. Have I improved with age? The jury’s still out on that one. But I’m still excited about learning new things. I still love getting together with friends and family for good times.

I’m a very fortunate woman who has enjoyed many adventures, with plans to continue those escapades far into the future. Let’s go!