I feel both ancient and very young

On the eve of her 35th birthday (June 15, 1973), Joyce Carol Oates wrote in her journal, "I feel both ancient and very young." I understand what she means.

When I watched the video taped celebration of my 13th birthday a couple of weeks ago, I noted aloud that my mother would have been turning 37 a few short weeks later. Younger than I was at the very moment of the viewing. It amazed me.

When I was almost 37, Frederic was turning seven that year, and Lily five. When my mother was turning 37, her youngest son was 13, her middle son, 16, and her oldest 19. My father had just turned 45 a week before my birthday.

I was convinced my parents were old. Very old. Very, very old. I wonder how they felt back then. If they considered 37 and 45 old. Now that I am sandwiched between those years, I should think not. I hope not, at least.

I have two children that are not even double digits yet. When I look in the mirror, while I see signs of aging (permanent wrinkles, gray hair, shifting of the weight), I still see the young guy who would look into the mirror years ago and wonder what he would look like when he was old. When I look in the mirror, I still see a guy who can perform feats of strength (ask me to help you move, I'm on it. What do I do six days a week: lift weights), I still see a guy who can run faster than he did 20 years ago, I still see 1/2 of the young couple who said "I do" nearly 13 years ago.

I see my age now as something that bears the resemblance of maturity. My shell (my body) has changed some, but my mind, my heart, works differently. I contemplate things more, I reason more, I sometimes think more. I don't often make rash decisions, I know that my actions affect others and respect that. I understand that what I do, what I say, how I respond to things will offer lessons to my children. I care about other's feelings before I speak or do things.

Joyce Carol Oates will be 71 years old this June. When she was 35, she thought her life was "lived." She was prepared for and seemed to anticipate death to arrive soon. She has built a legacy for herself over the years; something I wonder she contemplated in 1973. She's written over 100 books since her first was published in 1964, and has five forthcoming. She was married to her husband, Raymond Smith, for 45 years (he died last year - 2008).

I've never felt so connected to someone's words as I did today when I read them.

I get them.

I get them.