I just turned thirty-five. I remember being twenty-five. I wish I was fifteen.
Each age milestone I reach I think is the best age. At fifteen I had stamina, smarts (or so I thought), friends and my whole life was ahead of me. When I was twenty-five I had stamina (the really important type), smarts (or so I thought), friends and the world was my oyster. Now, at thirty-five, I have stamina (until 11:00pm or so), smarts (or so I think), money and a family (have you ever smelled an oyster, blech!).
I can’t imagine my forties being better as I see my older brother’s hair falling out, his getting tired by walking up my front porch and, well, let’s just say he carries an expanding Goodyear at his beltline.
So, whaddya’ think? Twelve? Eighteen? Twenty-seven? I say thirty-five.
I think the best age is when you are young enough to go out and have fun and old enough to be less self-conscious.
For me, it was(long ago) between 23-28.
When I was 21 my friends (2-3 years younger) envied me. Now I’m pushing 26 and the butt of endless Alzheimer’s and medicare jokes. Now that I’m no longer the only one old enough to buy alcohol, I’m finding myself forced to face what a dork I really am. It’s a show.
You’re old enough to have been around the block at least onece; old enough to be considered a rational adult (no longer twenty-something) and still young enough to do whatever it is you want to do.
I would never go back; it was hard enough the first time!
I’m thirty-four. And I’m happy with who I am.
This smacks of regretting the past which is a past-time I loath to indulge in.
There are things in my life I often think of changing but in the end I feel things are the way they are for a reason. I may not like it or understand it but hey, that’s the way it is.
Life is this.
Life is me moving forward. Looking back, lamenting, is pointless. All I can do is look forward, make changes, accept, and move on.
The universe is so full of all I need that I can only look to the future with eyes wide open and a heart full of excitement!
I’m 37. Life became wonderful for me at 35, then 36 and now at 37 its the best. I love who I am. It took me a long time to figure it out, but its awesome. I can’t imagine ever being 18 again and having to look at my life ahead of me and figure it all out again.
It’s definitely not 19. At 17, 18, I thought I had it all figured out. Now I see I do know some pretty great things about myself (from writing, reading, thinking) but my assumptions about other people are off. If my parents threw me out tomorrow I would be living on the streets and I can’t buy alcohol. It sucks.
But there is the whole, “I have my entire life ahead of me!” vibe that is cool. I have lots of time to make mistakes and learn from them. And time to grow. Besides, I know some 30 year olds who are as clueless as I am at 19.
The day before yesterday, I celebrated my 33rd birthday.
I remember when I turned 30. I was petrified. I was going to be old. Eeeeek!
Now, you couldn’t freaking pay me enough to go back. I still make my share of stupid mistakes, but I learn from them much more quickly now. I don’t make the same mistake twice anymore. Except with my son. He was an “oops.” But he’s just so cuuuuuute, so I guess I’ll keep him.
Anyway, I like being in my thirties, but my best friend Lynne just turned 52. She swears up & down that except for menopause, hitting 50 was the best thing that happened to her. This woman is so terminally hip that she makes me really, really look forward to getting older. My mom is the same way. She’s 53, and just digging the crap out of being 53. My mom wears bright colors and big flower patterns, tells people to p*** off, and encourages her grandchildren to wreak havoc on their parents.
I like the age I am now, but I think turning 40 will be fun. I think I might throw myself a huge party.
At 4 you don’t walk around with a poopy diaper unless your parents are weird. But you have little or no responsibility, and being naked is nothing to be ashamed of . . . yet.
At 26 you’ve hopefully paid all your college debts off and you’re successfully independent. Maybe you’re married, maybe single. Who cares? You’re not stuck in school anymore.
If anyone even tries to convince me that being a teenager is fun, . . . just don’t do that. For some of us, fun just started this past year. For others, it won’t start until we’re no longer forced to buy education.
So far the best age I’ve been is very young. Maybe four, maybe a bit younger.
I really, really like the age I am. If I had to choose a different age, however, I’d ask to choose a different gender too, so I could be a little old lady. Little old ladies get away with everything.
I liked eighteen. It was the year my brain started working properly. At fifteen and sixteen, it was doing great, but wasn’t very reliable in any sort of unusual situation. At seventeen, things started to change. At eighteen, life was bliss. Pure, sweet bliss.
I just turned nineteen today (yesterday, actually…I need to go to sleep), and I wonder if things can get any better. It’s going to be interesting finding out.
I’m rather looking forward to my late 40’s. Most of the really thoughtful, compelling people I know are around that age.
I’m with Canadian Sue on this one…and everyone else that said their current age is the best one.
Ultimately, wishing you were another age, isn’t positive.
Knowing what I know now…and being in a younger body…now that’s something to ponder.
Learning the lessons of life, is tough. I wouldn’t want to do it again.
