I am three months away from turning 35 and I am freaked out. Majorly. Not by the number, but the fact that I will be considered middle-aged. I will no longer be in the most coveted demographic for advertisers, 18-34. I'll be in the 35-48. It seems like it just came out of no where. I didn't even stop to consider that I would be middle-aged until my friend brought it up. Then the panic ensued.
I started to think of my own preconceived notions of what it means to be middle aged. I always picture the man with greying hair, leathery skin (I guess George Hamilton) driving around in his fancy sports car convertible. Usually, there's a much younger woman with him. For women, I always assume botox, face lifts, lipsuction, or running off to Italy with their pool boy. I don't need/want to do any of those things. I am blessed with decent genetics and look like I'm 27 at the oldest.
So why exactly, am I freaking out? Well, I guess I thought I would be a little more established by the time I turned 35. I'm using the word "established" because over time my idea of what I considered established has changed. When I was little I wanted to be married, drive a cute sports car, have 2.4 kids, a cat, a dog, and live in a Cap Cod style house with a white picket fence. I basically wanted to look like I jumped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog. Overtime, that dream faded (thank goodness. Its a little too suburban for my liking). I replaced it with other things like winning a pulitizer prize for my novel, an oscar for my screenplay, or being a high-paid PR executive. Somewhere in my 20's, I decided that these lofty goals would only leave me highly disappointed. Then, I decided, I wanted to be established in my career. With 35 three months away, I still don't know what I want to do with my life.
If I really think about it, maybe I am ok with this. Maybe this is the chance I need to take a risk and totally go for it...what do I have to lose? Nada. Bring on 35, it's the year of Shelly Marcelly!
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