In 18 days, I’ll be 40. I don’t feel 40. Usually I feel about 25, though sometimes my kid runs me until I feel more like 60. Still, my middle-agedness tends to take me by surprise.
Like the realization that Dave Matthews Band is oldies now. I have no problem thinking of Guns N Roses as oldies/classic rock, because that was high school and high school was forever ago. But music from my college years is still contemporary, right?
Here’s the problem with waiting to have kids: I consider music from the 70s old, but not that old. I remember listening to Tom Jones and Carly Simon and Helen Reddy with my mom. They’re classic rock. The Beatles, the Stones, Elvis — those artists predate me. They’re true oldies. (Listened to on a Victrola, for all I know.) Well, by those standards, everything I listened to in college falls under the “true oldies” label. Gin Blossoms. Counting Crows. Goo Goo Dolls. DMB. All elevator music now.
Almost every song on my Spotify playlist predates my daughter by roughly 20 years. (And almost every one is tied to a boy or a broken heart, but that’s probably more indicative of my life at the time than the songs themselves.) I wear out-of-style clothing — in fact, now that I work from home, it’s mostly Mom yoga pants and 10-year-old t-shirts. I haven’t changed how I wear my makeup since the current crop of high schoolers were in diapers, and my hair is hopelessly uncool.
Gray hair? Pfft. I started graying at 16. Fine lines? Whatever. This is the stuff that makes me feel old.
Also having to explain to my baby daddy what a B-side is, because he’s too young to really remember vinyl. But that’s a story for another day.