Survey Says…

…that the average age when people stop feeling young is 43.  And that the average age when they start feeling old is 52.  Not sure what they are feeling in those intervening 9 years, lol.

This little gem of a study popped up in my newsfeed this week.  Have you seen it?

First, let’s automatically just file this under the category of Did We Really Need a Study for This?  You know what I am talking about.  Those ridiculous studies from some organization that has too much time and money on their hands and so they come up with studies to do that tell us something we already know or that isn’t really important or meaningful in any way. 

Like, It’s Important to Eat Well to Stay Healthy and Live Longer. Or, It’s Important to Get Enough Sleep to Feel Good the Next Day.  Or, People Who Drive Blue Cars Are Happier. This particular study was conducted by the Worldwide Independent Network of Market Research.  So useless studies on a global scale.  Impressive.

Next, the study missed the mark here.  There isn’t some magical point in time, defined by your age where you suddenly no longer feel young, or conversely that you feel old.  Take it from someone who just turned 60 a month and a half ago.

It’s not your actual age per se, that’s an indicator of not feeling young, but rather, it’s your body that does all the talking here.  Your body that starts out talking to you in little whispers; an achy joint here and there, little slips of memory, crepe-y, wrinkly, sagging skin. 

It starts out as little whispers and then snowballs over time to loud crescendos, to the point where you can no longer bend over to tie your shoes so you buy slip-ons.  You can no longer ignore the reality of age. It’s almost indefinable to pinpoint an exact age for this.

To give you a clearer idea of what I am talking about, here’s something I wrote about aging when I first started realizing I was no longer feeling young. I likened it to a board meeting where all the various body parts needed to be addressed and held accountable for their various failures:

This meeting on the state of affairs with regard to the body of one Mary Lunghi is now called to order.  As members of the body of one Mary Lunghi your presence at this meeting is crucial.  Mary Lunghi now has the floor.

Hello.  I’ve been wanting to call this meeting for some time.  I’ve had some one-on-one conversations with each of you individually over the years to no avail.  Things are reaching critical mass now and I feel it necessary to address the body as one.  I don’t want to sound paranoid or anything, but it is starting to feel almost like a conspiracy. 

Hair.  When you sprung that first gray hair on me when I was 27, I was alarmed, but not overly so.  It was one little gray hair.  I could handle that.  I already owned a pair of tweezers.  And then one gray hair became two or three.  Still no big deal.  What I am not clear on, is when, at what point did 2 or 3 become 10,000?  Somewhere around 40 I found myself looking like Pepe Le Pew.  And while I am fond of Pepe, I have no desire to look like him.  I am now forced to color my hair every 3 weeks.  This is unacceptable.  I am only 46, not 80.  So please, talk amongst yourselves.  See if you can’t come to some agreement to stop turning gray and return to the beautiful brown you always were.

Brain.  Oh, this is the cruelest blow of all.  You have been so loyal, so steadfast all these years.  I could always count on you. To have you desert me now is more pain than I can bear. You, who have been so bright, so full of ideas, propelling me forward every day, learning more, soaking up knowledge like a sponge are suddenly absent at times, distant, not there when I need you.  For instance, I trust you when you tell me I put my keys in my purse.  Then I find they are not there.  How about the times I am at the grocery store and fail to come home with the precise item you told me we needed?  You were there at the house—get milk you told me.  And then I go to the store and get everything else but milk.   A regimen of daily crossword puzzles ought to sharpen you up.

Eyes.  Really—what were you thinking?  You’ve been a great pair almost all of my life.  Are you hanging around brain too much? Wanting a little of her disloyal action?  When I was around 30 and started having a little trouble seeing things far away, I didn’t complain to you too much.   But now? This not being able to read things close at hand is well, out of hand.   I can’t even see my food on my plate any more.  It’s just a blurry concoction of something.  So, I’d like the two of you to knock it off.  If you can’t go back to the way it was, then at the very least do not get any worse because I’m pretty sure I can’t grow longer arms.

Teeth.  I’d like to congratulate you.   You guys are the one bright spot on everything above the neck.   Except you are not bright.  That’s one little flaw I know I can remedy easily enough with some whitening strips.  But I want to congratulate you because you’ve all stayed.  And even though that combined, you have more mercury in you than an albacore tuna, you are solid, strong and healthy.

Facial skin.  I don’t have much to say here.  You’re a disappointment period.  You always have been.  Acne in my teens and early 20’s.   Crow’s feet , age spots and skin tags in my 40’s.  I think I was satisfied with you for maybe 5 days in my 30’s because even then you weren’t anything to write home about.  So, I’ve just written you off as a lost cause.

The girls.  Ladies, what happened?  All my life I was an A cup.  I didn’t understand the meaning of the word cleavage.  I wore thin cotton bras with no underwire.  Was I disappointed?  Yes, to a degree.  But I consoled myself with the thought that when I got older you wouldn’t sag.   But you two managed to pull a fast one on me.  Suddenly, you’re sagging.   I go to Victoria’s Secret to get an underwire bra, because now you two need support.  The upside of all this?  I am now a B cup and with my new Victoria’s Secret bras I have cleavage!  But the secret that Victoria isn’t telling anyone is that when the bras come off,  when the girls are no longer in their locked and upright positions, they are, well, no longer upright.

Arms.  Upper arms specifically.  When I was in the 5th grade, Mrs. Landau’s flabby arm skin would flail in all directions whenever she’d write on the chalkboard.  I watched that spectacle in horror and vowed to never have Mrs. Landau arms.  I now have Mrs. Landau arms.  Take heed.  I will not allow this to continue any longer.  I have bought myself weights and have begun a regimen that should strengthen you and restore you to your former glory.  So, even if you’ve given up on you, I haven’t.

Tummy.  Ok, I know you’ve been stretched a bit having to accommodate my being pregnant twice.  But really, is this kind of retaliation necessary?  Now I look like I am perpetually pregnant.   I have noticed that on the occasions where I have been sick and can’t eat, the pooch disappears.  But, unfortunately I do need to eat.   I suppose my daily dose of ice cream will have to be suspended.  I don’t want to make these concessions, but I can see that you are a tough cookie (another thing I’ll need to eat less of) and won’t budge unless I resort to drastic measures.

For the rest of you body parts, if I haven’t mentioned you here, consider yourselves lucky.  You have not yet given me cause to angst.  Let’s keep it that way. 

Thank you all again for your attention to this matter.  Work with me just a little will you?  We could all be so much happier if you do.

This meeting is now adjourned.

No longer feeling young at 43?  Feeling old at 52?  Nah.  You’ll no longer feel young and you will feel old when your body tells you, whatever age that might be.

Stay tuned for next week’s blog where we’ll follow up with recalcitrant, aging body parts 14 years later.

In the meantime, eat healthy foods, don’t drink alcohol, exercise, and get a good night’s sleep to feel good and live longer.  So the studies say.