We have new neighbors with young children. Their son asked me the other day how old I was. His parents, mortified, tried unsuccessfully to interrupt him. When I told him, he said ‘Wow! That’s really old!’. His parents were even more mortified. I thought it was funny.

Recently, my great-nephew was asked if he knew who his oldest relative was, and he said me. When asked how old he thought I was, he said 100. I thought it was funny.

Then I started thinking about age. I’ve mentioned this before, but I remember when I was about nine, the teacher telling us we would be twenty-one when Haley’s comet flew by. I still remember thinking I’d never be that old. One of my sisters just reminded me of the Beatle’s song ‘will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four’. I’d never be that old. Except, as of yesterday, that’s exactly how old I am. I still think that’s funny.

Do you remember the stages of aging?

There was the milestone of becoming double digits. Of turning sweet sixteen. Old enough to drive. Graduating from high school. Turning twenty-one (and Haley’s comet flying by). It seems like after twenty-one, the milestones changed and possibly became less important. Then it was turning thirty. Then forty. And, my god, turning FIFTY!

I wonder when a specific age changed from something that seemed like a huge milestone, a step to adulthood, a major shift in life, to something less important. I’m also trying to remember those early, big milestones.

Sixteen was embarrassing. Everyone asking if I’d never been kissed or never been missed. How are you supposed to answer that? Did you really want to admit to either? Were you supposed to be proud or ashamed?

Twenty-one has good memories. The Scottish dance group I was involved with held a party and gave me a giant cardboard key. It was a tradition that a young woman received the key to the house at that age. My parents took me to an expensive restaurant which was a very rare event in our household. I remember feeling like a threshold had been crossed into adulthood. My brother was more thrilled because I was legal age to buy beer. Somewhere along that path I realized adulthood was still on the horizon.

Thirty was a huge milestone. Actually, to be more accurate, twenty-eight. That’s when I moved to the mountains and realized I’d always been meant to live in the woods. The thirties was when I found where I was meant to be, met the man who would marry me, had a child, came out of the closet about writing.

Thinking about this though, makes me wonder when we lose that sense of excitement. That next goal, next horizon to look forward to, next marker in the stage of life to reach for. What age were you when birthdays changed from milestones that marked looking forward to milestones that marked looking backward?

I’m still looking forward. I laugh when people hear how old I am and tell me I don’t look that old. I laugh when little kids stare at me in awe because their great aunt is ancient. Do I have an age to look forward to now? I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to a specific age because I don’t really pay attention normally to dates.

But hey! Senior discounts!