Tomorrow I will be 35 years old.  As I said to someone this morning, that means in five years I’ll be dead…oh, wait, I mean 40.

I don’t feel as dramatic as Meg Ryan’s Sally in “When Harry Met Sally.”  Remember the scene?  She’s crying into the phone that she’s going to be 40…someday!  I have always felt unattached to my age, but this whole 35 thing is a bit like the fly caught between the screen and the window, banging for a way to get out.  It’s attracted my attention and I need to do something about it.

Let me start with being 17 because in my head, I’m still that young.  I was a month past my 17th birthday when I had a first date with this guy from my high school.  His name was Dave and he’s now my husband.  We have been together since that first night; I went home after the date and wrote in my diary I was going to marry that man.  Cute now, stalker then.  The point is, from that night on,  it was always DaveandTammy or TammyandDave.  He became my best friend and I wanted to spend my life with him.  I stopped aging at that moment.

It doesn’t help that I read a ton of young adult fiction.  It’s not because that’s my reading level (really, I can wrestle my way through “War and Peace,” I just don’t want to).  I really get into YA fiction because while the protagonists deal with big life issues, there is still enough Happily Ever After thrown in to keep me happy.  YA books usually feature young adults or even kids solving the puzzle, journeying on the quest, being in charge of their own destiny and they don’t yet have the hopeless attitude and down down down lives found in adult fiction – Jodi Picoult, I’m talking to you.

Maybe it’s my reaction to media’s coverage of 35-year-old actresses.  Google “35 year old female celebrities” and the one term that shows up most is Middle Aged.  Really?  At 35?  Does that mean it’s downhill from here?  I’m just getting started!

And, maybe it IS that I’m just getting started.  I’ve wanted to be a writer all my life and I finally have that opportunity.  I’ve always dreamed of being a mom and while I adored the days of chubby checks and naps, the conversations I can have with my now 8-year-old inspire me in ways that he couldn’t have done as a baby.  My husband is in a secure, stable, respectable job and wears a suit and tie nearly every day.  I have a beautiful traditional house in a beautiful traditional neighborhood with mature trees and brick streets.  I keep a monthly budget, I listen to NPR…when exactly did I grow up?

Mary Chapin Carpenter released an album years ago with a track of “Grow Old With Me.”  Here are some lyrics:

Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.

When our time has come, we will be as one.

God bless our love, God bless our love.

Grow old along with me, two branches of one tree.

Face the setting sun when the day is done.

God bless our love, God bless our love.

As I grow old along with Dave and our family, I feel God’s blessings.  Age 35 is no different than 20 or 12 or 87.  The blessings of every age are there for us if we look for them.

Tam