Neverland

On and off for the past several months, I have been getting that I'm getting older and older feeling. When it hits I get a pang of panic and my future flashes before me. I can't diagnose what prompted this recent paranoia of aging and its odd side effects: lathering my neck with lotion to prevent more neck wrinkles,  scrutinizing my face for age spots, anxiety over flabby flesh, and the excavation for the gray hair near my widow's peak that I know will show it's ugly face again soon: But rest assured, whatever it is, I have set my sights on conquering my fear of the antiqued look and feel.

As a member of the overly optimistic, confident and sheltered Millennial generation, I grew up thinking that my life was as easy as Tinkerbell's. And it was. Things would always just fall into place in fairy tale fashion with the help of happy thoughts and a little bit of pixie dust. And amazingly the magic lasted through college, my first job, and even business school. My ability to wing it was only tested when my metaphorical Captain Hook rendered me unable to think of happy thoughts after college, but with each bout I was able to defeat that fierce rival and continue the high flying party.

For a long time it seemed that this Neverland-style existence was going to last forever - that I could reap the benefits of being a fun-loving, carefree lost girl for the rest of my life. But then something happened this year. It started with my 28th birthday, continued with my year anniversary at work, and got really bad when a bunch of my recently graduated Facebook friends started broadcasting that they had officially become grown-ups by landing their first jobs. As I read these excited declarations of independence, I started thinking about all the things that were taking the pixie dust away from me despite the unprecedented number of happy thoughts that I have accumulated lately: (Now, as a precursor, I am a Millennial who has split time between Neverland and Lo Lo Land, so these minor benchmarks may seem inconsequential, but they were grounding factors to me.)

• I had to book my own doctor and dentist appointments (with new doctors) and had to give them my insurance card and membership number, which I oh, so responsibility had handy. 
• I scheduled an emission test for my car so I could renew my Illinois license plate - yes ILLINOIS! - My Mini is no longer PA proud.
• I had to pay my American Express, student loan, rent, electric, and car insurance bills on the same day - rendering the coral Theory dress that I really wanted from Barney's unattainable at this point in time.
• I got a letter from my company saying that I was now eligible to sign up for a 401K plan. (Seriously, I have to think about saving for retirement?!)
• I treated my Mom and Dad to a night at Ravinia - tickets, food, wine, and all - and when they offered to pay me back, I said, "NO! My treat."(That is unheard of in my repertoire - especially since I have a knack for getting reimbursed at 500% of the cost of goods purchased.)
• It seemed that everyone else around me was getting married, buying houses, having kids, and aging as well. 

All of these factors have definitely contributed to the feeling that I am becoming an old fart, but I have to say that it's probably the last bullet that is carrying the most weight at present.

When in a relationship you will inevitably reach a certain marker, whether it be two years, a certain birthday, or the tenth wedding you have attended together, when others start to ask the question ... so when is it your turn? Which of course brings up the answer ... "Hmmm ... I don't know." And lately for me, the "I don't know" is followed by panic, my thirtieth birthday, more neck wrinkles, having to pick out the turtle neck version of the bridal gown I want so I can cover said neck wrinkles, and having a child miraculously at the age of 52.

I know - dramatic. And I have to wonder if I would be feeling the same way if I wasn't in a relationship. If I was single, would the idea of aging affect me as much? When I was 25 and single in Pittsburgh, surrounded by other singles, I celebrated my birthday with cupcakes and a DJ, in a black dress, white hat and white gloves (no joke. Sorry, no picture.) All my single girlfriends didn't seem to be under a time crunch, and I wasn't either. We just wanted to find Mr. Right at some point and in the meantime dance and have a good time.

Same concept ... two years later in Vegas

I kind of think of Wendy and Tinkerbell. After going to Neverland, Wendy basically falls in love with Peter, her maternal clock starts ticking while she's taking care of the Lost Boys, and she has to go back home so she can have a family of her own, thereby growing old and un-fun. Tinkerbell on the other hand, stays single in Neverland, continues to play the field, flirt, and remain young, spunky and hot. Tinkerbell "means more to Peter than anything in this world," and that's enough for her. She's okay staying in Neverland with a more or less uncommitted, undefined relationship with a boy who still rubs noses with Tiger Lily and swims with the mermaids.

I honestly can't think where to net out with this one, except that there must be a balance between the two extremes. I'm not going to be a twenty-something forever and I'm at this weird point where I'm always checking the clock. Thirty is looming - what comes after thirty? I don't want the fun to stop; I don't want the magic to go away forever; and I don't want to be granny Wendy anytime soon. But unlike Tinkerbell, I do want that committed relationship and family.

I got two sound pieces of advice last night that have helped ease my anxiety. First the boyfriend told me that 28 is the new 21. And the more I think about it, especially with the delayed development of the Millennial Generation, the more I believe it. After all, I'm still getting carded at the liquor store, I can still hang out with 21-year olds that find me relevant (even if they're my cousins) and I can still fit into my clothes from high school. Second, a 33-year old friend assured me that 'there is life after thirty.' With a husband, a ten-year old, and a burgeoning career, she goes dancing most weekends, is training for the Marathon and says she feels younger than ever.  

Me and the young'un cousins

I like it ... tension averted (for now.) So I'm bringing back the Pixie Dust, and opting to pay rent in Neverland for a little while longer. I might have to come back to reality here and there though, because a real kiss from the boyfriend is better than any thimble from Peter Pan.

Lo