How Old Would You Be?

Today in the shop I listed another of my Satchel Paige cards with quote "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?". This card features a deep red flower and leaves with a touch of red on them.

When I posted the pic up onto my Flickr account, another etsyian lorimarsha asked me "That's a great question. How would you answer it?". Which wasn't something I had given much thought to before, in all honesty.

So how would I answer it?

Well, in some ways I am "old" for my age--I like to stay in at night, I quilt (which, rumor has it, is the sole territory of 50+ women with more than a few extra pounds and a special fondness for cats), I am "sensible", and will happily wear "comfortable" clothes over fashionable ones.

In other ways I am hopelessly young--I prefer hot chocolate over coffee, have a deep distrust of "funny foods", still read the comics first and get marker all over my hands when drawing.

In other words--I'm the same person I've always been. Sure, I get wiser (and I used to get taller) but I've always been freakishly responsible. I've gotten better at things like getting along with others, perfecting my crafts, and recognizing when things are going to go horribly wrong.

And so much of the young/old dichotomy has to do with where you stand and where you have been. When I got married (at 23) some were happy to see me *finally* getting hitched. Others moaned how I was much too young. As far as I was concerned, age had nothing to do with it. To quote another cliche "Age is just a number".

I read a short story once about a young girl turning 11. In the story she came to the conclusion that she was 11, and 10, and 9, and 8, and 7, and 6, and 5, and 4, and 3, and 2, and 1 all at once--like an onion. You just keep adding layers but those other ages never really go away. That image stayed with me and still rings true. So I can be all 24 of my years when being professional and my inner 6 year old can still put extra cherries on her ice cream. My 13 year old self can worry about her hair while my 2 year old self revels in the pure pleasure of feeling my muscles move when I take a walk. My 8 year old can shirk away from the "gunk" built up in the bottom of the drain while my 20 year old self de-gunkifies it.