Only some twenty-five years ago, I believed I was born to be wild, untamed and unpolished. In my immature teenage years, I used to look at people over 40 and think “oh my God! I will never be that old. I’d rather die! That’s so humiliating. Right?!”. Always be young, thought to myself, pretty as a butterfly hopping from flower to flower. Carrying the aroma of a care free spirit, and spreading it all around me.
When I saw older men with bald heads or white hair and beard, I would foolishly think “Ew! Why would any girl even look your way?”. In my adolescence, I used to think of older people as walking ancient artifacts. Outdated and in vital need of some serious dusting.
In fact, I used to think I would never date anyone who is older than me. Even in my early 30s, I still wasn’t ready to accept the fact I will also get older. Regrettably, I used to think anyone over 40 is too old! That anyone over 50 is like a dinosaur on their way to a natural extinction. Celebrating my 40th birthday was certainly amusing. Especially that I know now I am the dinosaur, in the eyes of my younger siblings. And to younger generation in general. That my most extreme excitement for the day is being able to walk up and down the stairs, without tripping and falling!
Paradoxically, I have always been a daredevil, even at a very young age. I remember one time, I think I was about five or six years old, I was riding my bicycle on the roof of our house. Suddenly, I jump off with the bike, as I wanted to repeat what I saw on TV the night before. Only because I thought it was cool. I still remember the look on my grandma’s face when she got out running. After she saw me flying off the roof and falling off the bike on the ground. It was nothing less than a miracle that I was absolutely fine. There was not even a scratch on me. In fact, I was laughing because I still thought that was so cool.
Things like jumping over fences, from one roof onto the other. And off the second floor, out of the window, just to reach the first floor faster. Parachuting, parasailing, skydiving and bungee jumping. All these things would excite me and entice me. Well, not any more!
Only some twenty maybe thirty years ago, I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be daring. And to do what I want to feel the rush. The adrenaline running through my veins like an infectious venomous poison. The euphoric excitement, centralized in my eyes, in the heat of the moment. Relying only on survival instincts. Being so raw, untamed and wild.
BUT NOW! OMG!
I Can’t believe how domesticated I’ve become. How scared and paralyzed, how dull and boring. Now, I can’t believe that something like a simple roller coaster ride would scare the bejesus out of me. And that merely standing on the balcony of a high-rise building would cause me to shiver and tremble.
Today, seeing grey hair makes me happy. Wrinkles make me smile. And spending my afternoons at home. I could have never imagined, that simply sipping hot tea and rereading an old book, such as Anna Karenina, can be so exciting.
WHO KNEW?!
Grandma did! Actually, she told me: “Just wait till you hit 40 and then come back to me on that one!”. This is exactly what I say to younger people today, when they accuse me of being old and boring. And just recently I found out how daring and wild my grandma was in her youth. How extremely dangerous life was and how she managed all on her own.
Though it may seem strange to me saying this. It is really amazing how our expectations in life are modified by our experiences. Our perceptions changed and accordingly switch our beliefs. Priorities shift and our reality becomes the only one we can see. Gone are the days of immaturity and care free. But the truth remains. Deep down I am the same wild child spirit I have always been and will always be.