Lying About My Age

I lie about my age consistently.

But in my defense — I tell people I’m lying.

When someone asks me how old I am, I would say ‘28’. “28, going on 27”.

That has been my answer for the past 5 years at least.

I lie so much, that sometimes — at the very moment of the question — I actually forget what age I am.

You don’t need to be a psychotherapist to tell that there’s something I’m avoiding.

I used to think that I was avoiding the notion of ‘getting older’. And — ignoring for the moment… the fact that it’s a futile effort (everyone gets older) — it was a perfectly acceptable thing to resist.

But more recently, I realized that I wasn’t resisting the actual matter of getting older, as much as I was resisting the commonly held agreements about what aging means — particularly around reaching what some people call — “mid-life”, the “second half” of one’s life, or the “retirement years”.

Yucks. I just turned 28.

This post will be the first, in a series of articles I will publish under Ageless (working title). Once I’ve written enough on this topic, I may bundle them somewhere.

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