metaphortunate son (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metaphortunate) wrote2013-07-26 09:07 pm
metaphortunate) wrote2013-07-26 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
I'm getting older too
This morning there was, waiting at my bus stop, a really lovely woman - digression: I was going to say a really lovely girl, but she wasn't a girl. But when I say "lovely woman", for some reason, to me it sounds like I'm talking about her personality. Does it sound like that to you? That's weird. Also, it occurred to me the other day why a "young girl" is like 17 and a "young boy" is like 8. It's because you could easily call a twenty-eight-year-old a girl if she's female, but you'd hell of not call him a boy if he was male. Very irritating.
Also, she wasn't lovely, exactly. I mean, she was very attractive, but in a "to me" kind of way. Like, glasses, kind of funky bag, interesting expression on her face. The sort of looks that start me thinking about how I might strike up a conversation. Under other circumstances. That's right where my mind went. Like, if I wasn't married, and heavily pregnant, if there were any chance that I might do something with her phone number or email address or Facebook name if I could get her to give it to me, how could I have struck up a friendly conversation. (Weirdly, it wouldn't have been hard. Normally bus stops are an ass-terrible place to hit on someone. I still remember the guy back in Chicago who honestly tried to pull something like "you're taking the #6, I'm taking the #6, we have so much in common!" But this morning there had just been a brief incident with the train a block away that it would been easy to comment on, such that if she had been interested in conversing it would have been a perfect topic.)
But of course I didn't, because I am not in the market. Not just not in the market for pretty girls. Or lovely women, rather. I'm not in the market for anyone. I can't make new friends right now. I am hanging on to my old friends by my fingernails because I refuse to give them up out of sheer bloody-mindedness. And as I thought of this, I noticed that there was some grey in her hair. And it made her a little less attractive. No less lovely. But less pull. Less reason to strike up a conversation. Some of the fire of her life has gone to ash already. And it made me sad, because there's just as much grey in my hair, or more.
But it's true, you know. I've burned up half my life - if I'm lucky. And what I have left - and I do have a lot left, but you know what, it's taken up. It goes to the Junebug. It goes to Mr. E. It goes to the baby in my belly. It goes to work, and if I have a spare half hour left, I need it for myself. I don't have anything to give someone new right now.
I'm not sure whether that's sad or not. I was thinking about this piece on Friends and the narrowing of life as one gets older. Yes, no, you don't have to get married, you don't have to be monogamous, you don't have to have babies, you don't have to stop hanging out with your friends. Those are all choices. But you do have to make those choices. You do have to either do those things or not do those things and do different things instead. Per the article, "creators David Crane and Marta Kauffman described the show as a look at 'a time in your life when everything's possible,' when the future was 'more of a question mark.'" Ignore for a moment the hyperbole of that "everything"; yes, limited possibilities, yes, for some people more than others. Nonetheless, there is a difference between the time at which you think "what am I going to do with my life?" and the time at which you think "Oh. So this is what I'm doing with my life."
And that's not necessarily sad, though. I mean, that question mark they speak of, that's a sign that whatever you're going to do, you're not doing it yet. There's definitely something to be said for getting down in the trenches and doing the damn thing. Which is where I am. Doing the work. Of course my life isn't full of possibility right now. You can't pour tea into a cup that's already full.
On the other hand, if your cup is already full, you don't need any more tea. And that's not such a bad place to be, with a nice full cup of tea and your work cut out for you.
Also, she wasn't lovely, exactly. I mean, she was very attractive, but in a "to me" kind of way. Like, glasses, kind of funky bag, interesting expression on her face. The sort of looks that start me thinking about how I might strike up a conversation. Under other circumstances. That's right where my mind went. Like, if I wasn't married, and heavily pregnant, if there were any chance that I might do something with her phone number or email address or Facebook name if I could get her to give it to me, how could I have struck up a friendly conversation. (Weirdly, it wouldn't have been hard. Normally bus stops are an ass-terrible place to hit on someone. I still remember the guy back in Chicago who honestly tried to pull something like "you're taking the #6, I'm taking the #6, we have so much in common!" But this morning there had just been a brief incident with the train a block away that it would been easy to comment on, such that if she had been interested in conversing it would have been a perfect topic.)
But of course I didn't, because I am not in the market. Not just not in the market for pretty girls. Or lovely women, rather. I'm not in the market for anyone. I can't make new friends right now. I am hanging on to my old friends by my fingernails because I refuse to give them up out of sheer bloody-mindedness. And as I thought of this, I noticed that there was some grey in her hair. And it made her a little less attractive. No less lovely. But less pull. Less reason to strike up a conversation. Some of the fire of her life has gone to ash already. And it made me sad, because there's just as much grey in my hair, or more.
But it's true, you know. I've burned up half my life - if I'm lucky. And what I have left - and I do have a lot left, but you know what, it's taken up. It goes to the Junebug. It goes to Mr. E. It goes to the baby in my belly. It goes to work, and if I have a spare half hour left, I need it for myself. I don't have anything to give someone new right now.
I'm not sure whether that's sad or not. I was thinking about this piece on Friends and the narrowing of life as one gets older. Yes, no, you don't have to get married, you don't have to be monogamous, you don't have to have babies, you don't have to stop hanging out with your friends. Those are all choices. But you do have to make those choices. You do have to either do those things or not do those things and do different things instead. Per the article, "creators David Crane and Marta Kauffman described the show as a look at 'a time in your life when everything's possible,' when the future was 'more of a question mark.'" Ignore for a moment the hyperbole of that "everything"; yes, limited possibilities, yes, for some people more than others. Nonetheless, there is a difference between the time at which you think "what am I going to do with my life?" and the time at which you think "Oh. So this is what I'm doing with my life."
And that's not necessarily sad, though. I mean, that question mark they speak of, that's a sign that whatever you're going to do, you're not doing it yet. There's definitely something to be said for getting down in the trenches and doing the damn thing. Which is where I am. Doing the work. Of course my life isn't full of possibility right now. You can't pour tea into a cup that's already full.
On the other hand, if your cup is already full, you don't need any more tea. And that's not such a bad place to be, with a nice full cup of tea and your work cut out for you.