Middle-aged. I never thought of myself that way, until now. My new driver's license picture. My god, I don't even recognize that woman. It isn't me. Or is it? My son, so polite, says, "It doesn't look like you mom." My partner, more succinctly says, "Sucks, babe."
It does. It sucks. That can't be me.
I've kept most of my driver's licenses, mostly for the pictures and their progressive 5-year shots of me through my ages. 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50...and now 55.
That pack of driver's licenses once saved my butt. I made an illegal left turn between 4 and 6, who knew - not me, at Queen and Greenwood. The officer asked for my license, and I started digging them out - all six of them. He said, "Hey, it's illegal to have all those driver's licenses!" I didn't know that, and I told him that I kept them because they showed me how I was doing through the years. He took all six, leafed through them, gave them back and said, "You're doing great." He let me go.
My 50th was the best. It regularly won the round-table game of "Who has the best driver's license picture." Everyone would concede defeat when faced with that beaming smile, chin down, hair-parted nicely, and tasteful scarf at the neck under the black leather coat. Always won. It was fun. I took it for granted.
My new driver's license won't win anything. In fact, it might surpass my all-time worst driver's license picture. Fat and 40, I had a two-year-old , and I worked parttime. My son and I walked everyday, but walking with a two-year-old isn't exercise. It isn't even strolling. I blossomed. When I hit my pregnancy weight, my doctor had a heart attack. She was all over me with "here come the pharmaceuticals for life if you don't do something about this weight and blood pressure now." I remember asking what I could do. She said, "Exercise. You've got 3 months, and if it's not down, you're going on meds."
Hied my hefty ass to a fitness class for the first time in my life, and fell in love. I'm still in love. I teach 10 classes a week now, on top of my day job.
All the exercise in the world can't mask the real truth though. I am middle-aged. Strong and fit, no doubt, but middle-aged. There's a hint of a jowl and there's a hint of a crease at the corner of my mouth. I know they're just hints, but hints lead to truths, unless there's intervention. Surgical intervention is definitely on the table, but I'm not keen on it, and botox doesn't work on these things.
Worse, I know that my next driver's license isn't going to be any better. It'll be 60. Holeee. Let's just say that again, roll it around the mouth, and see how it feels....60.
My next driver's license is 60.
I am middle-aged.
Time, it appears, is finite. I wonder if this will change my attitude. Will I race around doing everything I can while I still can, or will I chill? Will it change anything? Am I content to be on cruise control, just doing what I always do. Some people say that when you really understand the de-finite ending of time, as we know it, you want to do things differently. I don't know. I'm curious now. I guess I'll find out because now I know, thanks to that little picture, that I am well and truly middle-aged.
