Through my Younger Eyes

I met a new man yesterday. White hair. Plenty of wrinkles. Big smile. I was smiling back. Coquetting all the way.

I went home and looked him up on Facebook, as you do. He is twenty-six years younger than I. Twenty-six years!! I froze. How could I have missed that age difference? How could I not have seen that? How old do I think I am? I pulled back into myself to answer that question. Inside of me, the younger me looked out and completely understood why I didn’t see that. My younger self is about forty years old or so. She looks out at the world from her younger eyes.

I looked in the mirror. My younger eyes did not recognize that person. I had to take a step back and allow my younger eyes to see her. Oh yes, there were those twenty-six years.

I needed to explore this. Who were these two selves that seemed to exist so easily together?

I remembered a recent shopping soiree. My younger eyes chose shorts and crop tops and vibrant colors, saying words like “fun” and “flirty.” My older eyes wanted beige and brown and said words like “appropriate” and “mature.”

There was more. Several years ago, my younger eyes planned, and took, a trip around the world by myself with just a small backpack. I traveled through Japan, Mongolia, across Russia on the Tran Siberian Railroad, culminating in the Baltic States and Finland. My older eyes pointed out the pitfalls before, during and after the trip, stating “too old for,” “too dangerous:” “Have you lost your mind?” My younger self relished, no celebrated, the sheer adventure of it all.

At this moment my younger eyes are researching places to explore, animals to appreciate, and sites to see in Brunei and Borneo. On my own. My older eyes are researching the crime statistics and safety alerts in those same places.

My younger eyes are exploring travel options. My older eyes are calculating time aboard the aircraft and seeking the best deal on compression socks.

How to rectify these two perspectives. Is this some kind of multiple personalities thing? Do I have to keep reminding one set of eyes that the other exists? Whose version wins out in the end?

It would certainly be more fun if the younger eyes got to cast their view of the world deeper into my reality. And, of course, it would be more prudent and safer if my older eyes realized the veracity of their viewpoint.

And what about me, the whole person, during this struggle? Do I get to wear those colorful shorts all the while struggling to silence the watchful and disapproving gaze of the older eyes? Do I have to settle for appropriate or mature when I really want to enjoy fun and whimsy?

Perhaps I can be like my mom. At 102 years old she has lovely white hair and every single day she wears gorgeous scarves and glamorous earrings of wondrous colors and vibrant jackets. On her top half. On the bottom, she wears black pull-on polyester pants and black tennis shoes. I guess she has managed to rectify her opposing eyes.

Stay tuned for my own solution.