Honey, You're Just a Spring Chicken
Why We Need to Stop Saying "I'm Too Old" and Also No More "40 Under 40" Lists Plz
Years ago, when my mother was a nurse in her 50s, she told me a story about working the night shift, fluffing pillows and tidying a room where a patient in her 80s was—she thought—napping.
The mental anguish of nursing seems to revolve around errata like getting attached to dying people, paperwork, being interrupted by irate families while passing out copious amounts of morphine, and those patients who’ve been abusing their bodies, overeating, smoking, and whatnot for 40 years before proceeding to get remarkably upset when someone else can’t undo the damage overnight.
But this night, when my mom was tidying the room where a patient in her 80s was resting, she was muttering about those physical nurse things: the back hurts from hunching over beds. And the feet! My god, you’re always on your feet.
And so my mom, then a tired woman in her 50s on her feet at 3am, muttered:
“I’m getting too old for this shit.”
And who here among us can safely say that we’ve never felt like we’re too old for this shit?
No one.
We don’t want roommates/acne/financial stresses/bickering/traffic/lines: we thought we’d be done with that by now! We don’t want to apply for jobs: we should be fielding requests! And shouldn’t robots be helping us?
Alas, the elderly woman chuckled and turned towards my mother:
“Honey, you’re just a spring chicken. I’d give anything to be your age again.”
Why am I writing this? I got married 14 years ago yesterday. And, today, I found a computer file with a journal that I kept from my divorce, 10 years ago, when I was just out of a relationship, newly single and in New York, energetic and optimistic and overly confident that I was going to be a Big Deal. Today.
Today. TODAY ALL THE EMOTIONS.
TODAY THERE ARE TOO MANY EMOTIONS.
The “Me” of 10 years ago had lots of plans: I was going to travel the world after I finished writing my first book and start a business as a digital nomad. I was going to move to Chicago and join Second City, or stay in NYC and try my hand at stand-up. I was going to get a cushy corporate job and spend a year in Singapore or Hong Kong, because apparently I thought that was just the sort of thing that happened, easily, when I was younger and dumber.
The problem, of course, is that all of these things still sound like fun. But now I’ve got a mortgage in Portland and feel like I can’t do those things.
But… why not?
Part of this is the preference for potential, or the allure of the next big thing. I even wrote about this 10 years ago for Slate. It’s super easy to look at someone young and think “they have their whole life ahead of them!”
But don’t we all have our whole lives ahead of us? When you’re younger, you are spared the memories of failures. Breakups. Disappointments. You are spared seeing the alternate paths of friends who have gone on to do great things, while you sit and have another glass of wine without taking any big life risks. While you sit on your couch and think about the risks that did not quite go the way you wanted.
In other words, you’re spared a brain that is weighed down by history. You still get to think that you might, you just might, go on to be that .1% of people. The ability to forget distressing memories is actually a key trait of resilient people. Letting go and not allowing yourself to be defined by whatever brings you pain, or weighs you down, is not doing your past a disservice: it is a gift to your present and future self.
It’s this preference for potential that creates an unhealthy obsession with youth, leading to those obnoxious lists.
You know what’s really impressive?
Someone who is 65 and still optimistic.
Someone who is 52 and trying again.
Someone who is 73 and taking up a new skill.
Someone who is 41 and changing careers.
Someone who is 77 and on a first date.
Someone who is 56 and finally moving to the city.
Someone who is 49 and pausing things to take that trip around the world.
Someone who is 61 and sleeping on a futon because they’re on tour.
Courage is impressive and contagious and what we need more of—not age shaming. Not lifespan-event shaming. Not telling people what arbitrary stages of life they should be at.
You’re not too old to do that thing.
Read that again. And again and again.
There’s something beautiful about the naiveté and wasted energy of youth1, and it’s very easy—and tempting—to blame our woes on our age. But when we were younger, we didn’t know better.
So now that we’re older, instead of saying “I should have,” let’s look at our past patterns and try again, smarter. Or maybe try for the first time.
Optimism is easy when you’re young, but is more important as we get older.
No one cares how old you are. And if they are making fun of you for your age, they’re just projecting their insecurities and fears. They are shaving off the interesting parts of life. They’re compensating for an inner wound. I should know: I used to be one of them, laughing at others for not “acting their age” and using “old” as a derogatory term.
But now that I’m older, I can do better.
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Which is why it’s fun to date them btw
This hit me right in the chest.
It’s wild how often we conflate “aging” with “missing the boat,” when really the boat’s still right there—we just stopped believing we were allowed to board it. I’ve been guilty of this too… quietly shelving dreams because I thought they had an expiration date.
But your line—“someone who is 65 and still optimistic”—that’s the real flex. Not crushing it early, but starting anyway, even when the world tells you it’s too late.
Hard agree! Happy people over 40 is where it's at!