I don’t watch Glee. I hate sending text messages. I just found out last week who Justin Bieber was (I thought that whiny voice on the radio was a girl). If I was thrown back into high school right now, I would be an artifact. So when a few teenagers made me feel not-so-old the day after my 27th birthday, I was quite pleased.
On Wednesday, Feb. 9, I turned 27. Overall, 27 is a pretty good age. As my aunt pointed out, you are young enough to have fun, but old enough to be taken seriously. But you are also so far removed from the high school and college scene that it becomes hard to relate. I recall 27-year-olds I knew when I was 17. They were people with houses and babies who shopped in the misses department. No wonder they were taken so seriously.
Recently, I started leading a mini boot camp for a group of three high-school girls. Seeing them this Thursday, I expected, would make me feel particularly old. But instead, I couldn’t believe how much I could still relate to high schoolers. Between burpees and lunges, they talked about reading Heart of Darkness for English class, fake tanning versus spray tanning, learning to dance in gym class – things, it seems, that I did yesterday. For an hour, I forgot I was 27.
That night, I left work feeling younger, but also fortunate that my job gives me the chance to connect with people of so many different ages. My clients range in age from 17 to 70. Each ignites a younger or older me, whether through reminiscing about prom, previewing mommyhood or catching a glimpse of retirement.
Life is full of years worth appreciating. 27 is going to be a good year.