I Don’t Know How To Be The Oldest Person In the Room

I don’t know how to be the oldest person in the room. 

I don’t want to be the oldest person in the room. 

I want to pause my parents at 50 while I let my young adult children continue to grow and thrive. I love to watch their lives unfold and their interests expand before them. Maybe we can just pause us all at 50. Maybe nobody has to be the oldest person in the room. 

The ebb and flow of life. It cannot be halted. I’m not fond of this. 

I sort through these thoughts from behind my steering wheel. Out my windshield the highway ribbons its way west and my tires hum at seventy-six miles per hour. My eyes feel gritty. The past twenty four hours have been a journey of airports and airplanes and thunderstorms and overnight delays before my daughter and I finally landed in our dear little twelve gate home airport. We spent a few days with my parents; attended a family reunion. 

I’ve never been all that fond of tug-of-war. Uncertainty makes me shudder. Heights make me angsty. Dodgeball is the worst. Social anxiety hums in the pit of my stomach. Much of life is lived in the whirlpool of Not-Knowing. 

Not knowing where I fit in.

Not knowing what I want.

Not knowing if the ending will be a good one.

Not knowing when to say yes; when to say no.

Not knowing how to navigate the situation.

Not knowing why I feel the way I do.

Not knowing how to not be awkward.

Not knowing how to live lightly.

Not knowing how to cook a good steak. 

Not knowing how to make other people feel seen.

Not knowing how to be any kind of good parent.

Not knowing how to listen well.

Not knowing how to not be annoyed.

Not knowing why the world is so noisy.

Not knowing how to be my own friend.

Not knowing why it appears things work so well for smarter people. 

Not knowing how to fully separate belief systems from the roots of my mind.

Not knowing when it will be the last time.

Not knowing how to add windshield washer fluid to my vehicle.

Not knowing why everyone can’t be a little kinder.

Not knowing when the anxiety or the grief or the doubt or the guilt or the shame or the ghosting is going to erupt again.

Not knowing how to communicate. 

Not knowing how to advocate for my own agency. 

Not knowing how to call out hypocrisy.

Not knowing why hope can feel so hidden.

Not knowing which of the knives in the knife block is for which kitchen task.

Not knowing how to be the oldest person in the room. 

All the Not-Knowing…
And then there is 
The Not-Believing

Not believing I am good enough.

Not believing I know enough.

Not believing I could ever be the smartest person in the room.

Not believing anyone would ever really like me for simply being me.

Not believing in much purpose or significance in anything I do or have to offer.

Not believing the kind words offered my way.

Not believing they will still want to spend time with me when they get to know me better.

Not believing there is a way through.

Not believing I’m not too much or not enough.

The Not-Knowing and the Not-Believing 
team up often with Don’t.

Don’t let people know who I really am.

Don’t try anything new because it might be embarrassing.

Don’t rock the boat.

Don’t voice an actual opinion. 

Don’t be too loud, too annoying, too eager, too ugly, too pretty, too smart, too excited, too happy, too sad, too fill-in-the-blank-with-every-other-adjective. 

These lists could fill volumes. 

I turn off the highway; follow the pavement for the final ten miles to my dirt road and driveway. I let the questions and emotions hover, hang in the air without answers. I let them float with the flow.

I let myself be human.