Klues: Signs you might be middle aged, and why that’s a good thing

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Maureen married her husband in the middle of her life — right in the middle of kid chaos, careers, buying and selling houses. | Photo courtesy of e.three photography

When interviewing people for life storytelling, I often break down story questions by childhood, young adult, older adult and then the big picture of life. I have rarely contemplated where I land in this distinction.

Terms like “barely 40” or “a smidge over 40” are used since turning 40. “I’m just sticking my toe in the pool of 40” was said with a laugh. After a few years passed by, “early 40s” was the choice.

The “early 40s” comment was used one too many times around my husband when he ruthlessly brought me into the reality of the situation. He stared at me and said, “You are turning 45 next month. That is literally the middle of your 40s.”

Is 45 middle aged?

A Google search helped determine what is middle aged. The Gen X crowd (me) thinks middle age is 45 to 55 years old. Younger millennials, on the other hand, believe one enters middle age at 35. Oh, young millennials, you sweet children, get back to me when you are in fact 35.

To be honest, I do believe 45 is middle aged. It isn’t a bad thing at all, but it also makes one think about how perspectives on life have changed over time. In that vein, here are a few examples of how you might know you are nearing middle age:

Most of your weekend is spent on yard work or talking about the yardwork you didn’t get done.

As a young adult, my yard work game consisted of having a lawnmower. That’s it. It was usually an old rusted one my dad gave me or I found in the garage of the house I was renting. In my 20s, my roommate and I were taken aback when our landlord prompted us to mow the lawn more than every other week, then asked if we were going to clean the gutters.

My response was, “I am afraid of heights and my roommate has mono, so…” Both of those were absolute facts at that moment in time. Looking back, our landlord likely was anxious every time he drove past the property daily to see how bad of condition the yard was in.

This last weekend, my husband and I debated when the edging would get done, whether we needed to invest in a cordless weed eater and hedge trimmer, and if we have time to go to our Saturday morning workout class when landscaping was clearly priority number one. This discussion also included looking at the calendars on our phones for the next week and tracking the weather.

Above is one of many photos of flowers in Maureen’s yard that she keeps in her photo roll (and no one cares about). | Photo courtesy of Maureen Klues

You might have to do the ‘modified’ version of a workout.

I have never been a runner and have often backed this up with a comment my dad said years ago — our family does not run.

We are not runners. None of us, apparently. From generation to generation, no runners. No first or second cousins were surveyed on this declaration, but it gives me the liberty to decline running. When I do run, one knee will pop. Always has. That knee just does not care for impact sports.

I consider myself to be in somewhat decent shape. I attend a strength and weights class twice a week. A new cardio class I tried last week was actually awesome. The instructor had tons of energy, tons of calories were burned, and the sweat from my hair had to blow dried before returning to work. Yes, it was intense.

Fast forward two days later. Both knees hurt, and I had to hold my back to bend over to pick something up. Why would this happen? Because during the high impact parts of the workout, the instructor’s suggestions to modify certain segments of the workout were ignored. When she looked directly at me and suggested doing squats instead of the burpees, zero attention was paid. As everyone danced back and forth pumping their knees high, and she suggested toe tapping, that idea was completely disregarded.

You might think this is the point where a lesson was learned. You are wrong.

I will be there next week, not modifying anything, because I’m that person who refuses to stop doing anything. Someone will have to pry the keys out of my hand when I am 105.

What can I say? I come from stubborn people.

You appreciate everything you once thought was a cliché.

Remember all the sayings and words of wisdom from your parents that you used to roll your eyes at? They are all true. Life does go by faster and faster every year, you now appreciate the little things in life, and your kids do grow up in the blink of an eye.

This is seen even more clearly through the stories I tell. Everyone has a different story, but most tell me the same things. They wished they had worked less and went on more vacations. After years and years with their spouse, through the ups and downs, they are still everything to them. Their relationships define their life. They don’t have too many regrets, because their decisions made them who they are.

Now I’m the parent spouting out the words of wisdom that seem to bounce right off my kids, just as my parents thought about me.

Wrinkles.

A discussion last week during lunch with a friend was about getting older. She commented how she likes the wrinkle in the middle of her forehead, because it shows she is an expressive person. We laughed about trying to stay young.

My laugh lines are the history of my life. Every good or silly thing that has happened is saved to remind me of that every time I look in the mirror.

Someday, when most of my life is a memory, I hope I can still laugh about getting older and appreciate every little line on my face that represents my life. Some will be from joy, some will be from sadness, but all the same, they are the story of me.

Sometimes the middle can be a beginning.

When you are young, you look at someone who is 40 or 50 years old and think most of their life adventures are complete. That sounds more silly as I age. I interviewed a man who was 102 years old, and he met his 96-year-old girlfriend when he was out dancing in his 90s.

I married my husband in the middle of my life. Right in the middle of kid chaos, careers, buying and selling houses, we decided to begin something new.

Middle aged? Sure, I’m fine with that. The middle of the story is just that. Many more pages remain to be turned.

Maureen Klues writes occasionally for Muddy River News. She recently started Memoirs by Maureen in the Quincy area. She will capture the story of an event, a story of one’s life or create a tribute for a person and put it together in a storybook format.

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