Getting old is kind of getting old. I’ve discovered that my normally sweet and patient personality has become more curmudgeon-like as of late. Maybe it’s because I’m finally admitting to myself that as each day flies by faster than the previous one, my time here in this existence is limited.
A few days ago, I had to drop my daughter off at the train station so she could head back to college. She had come home to celebrate her oldest sister’s birthday (yup—another indication of my age is that I now have a 35 year-old child.) We were in a bit of a hurry, but we decided to stop by our favorite bakery for a treat. I was relieved to see that the line only had 3-4 people in it.
As it was still early, there were only two people working at the bakery. A stylish young couple (the woman had a head full of blond highlights, perfect make-up, and JUICY written in big letters across her purple velour behind) were being helped. They seemed to be oblivious that there were people waiting behind them, and they decided that they really had to ask detailed questions about every single ingredient of every single donut/pastry in the case. I could tell the young man helping them was getting frustrated as he watched the line grow longer with each query.
Is this for real? I thought to myself. I must’ve sighed a bit too loudly, because my daughter whipped her head around and gave me the death stare.
“Mom, seriously?” she hissed under her breath. “Can’t you just chill, please? I hate it when you do this—it’s embarrassing!”
“What’s more embarrassing is that those two idiots up there are completely oblivious that they’re holding up the line,” I thought I had whispered it, but I saw the guy ahead of me in line crack a smile so it must’ve been louder than I thought.
She rolled her eyes and I decided to keep the peace and hold my tongue. Of course my daughter was right—it was probably only a minute or two wait, and in that moment, I had chosen to become an impatient shrew.
If I’m honest, it really wasn’t that I had to wait. It was that this young couple (emphasis on young) acted like they didn’t have a care in the world. With their privileged youth and beauty on full display, they did exactly what they wanted without any consideration for the rest of us.
Like a jelly donut, I was filled with envy.
I was envious because I’ve never learned to put myself first. To this day, I still feel guilty when I do something kind for myself. Born the middle-child pleaser, my concern has always been about someone else’s feelings or wants—never my own. It’s tragic that I would never once consider treating a friend the way I treat myself.
But I’m working on it. With the encouragement of my husband and children, I’m learning to be kinder to myself.
“Go get a massage,” my daughter implores me, “You deserve it!” And sometimes I actually listen. Right now, I’m typing on my newly purchased Mac Book Pro after using a computer that was almost fifteen years old. I’ve also learned to be selective with my friendships, and surround myself with women who care for me with unconditional, non-transactional love—who are interested in what I have to say, and most importantly, value who I am as a person.
If I’m fortunate, I’ve got maybe a mere thirty years left of this life—and the minutes are quickly ticking away. So I’ve decided I’m going to give myself some grace for acting like an old fart once in a while. I know for a fact that there will be times I’m irritated and impatient while out in public. I promise I’ll try to keep it to myself.
But if I’m unable to hold it in, and you hear a loud sigh behind you while waiting in line at the bakery (or anywhere else for that matter), please hurry it along.
This girl’s got some living to do, and you really don’t want to hold her up.