How old am I? Sometimes I say 63. The other day when a man who'd been flirting with my friend asked I said 73. He thought it was my clever way of telling him that I'm 37. It seems like I've been lying about my age my entire life. Subtracting a year to get into a movie at the kiddie price. Adding a year to get a job at the local Kmart when I was in high school. Adding a few years to get into Club Zanzibar. I know the name sounds corny now, but I swear it was New Jersey's coolest place to dance to "house music" (http://www.amazon.com/Fabric-4-Tony-Humphries/dp/B000063CL5. These days I add many years to my real age. I like to think that I'll look exactly the way I do right now when I really am in my sixties or seventies.
Aging really scares me sometimes, but I think I'm learning how to tame the beast, conquering one dilemna at a time. The first piece of the aging puzzle is adventure. Thoughts of nothing to look forward to but trips to the doctor and new episodes of "Wheel of Fortune" send chills down my spine. Whether you are 27 or 72, you only grow and learn when you step out of your comfort zone and tackle a new adventure. Adventure doesn't find you. You create it.
Unsure of exactly what the trip would bring, I accepted an invitation to spend the weekend with a friend and her family on Sapelo Island in Georgia (http://www.amazon.com/Sapelo-Islands-Hammock-Images-America/dp/0738568473/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1235976284&sr=8-1). I've been to the island before, but this time I experienced it through the eyes of children. Their open-mouthed excitement gave me a new perspective... dare I say a dash of adventure. So, next time I don't think I'll wait for an invitation. I'm gonna find the adventure and do the inviting myself.
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