Question One

50 Questions That Will Free Your Mind: Marc and Angel Hack Life.

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

I see why my students struggled with this one – they’re between 14 and 18; I am almost 30 and I have no answer. But that point of these is not to answer, but to think.

I know when I was born, thus I know how long I have been on this earth. However as I do not have full memory of early years of my life, the time that I have conscious memory is different than my age – and who is to say how old my subconscious memory is?

In February I will have been alive for 30 years. But I look at my life, and I wonder what “30” is? A dear friend of mine really had a “mid-life crisis” freak out for his 30th birthday – and I don’t feel any of that dread. I’ve been saying “I am 30” for a bit now because I am close enough; and it seems different to write that statement in a way.

I am not a number. I am a person.

Age seems to matter in stages. There are those magical numbers of youth: 16, 18, and 21 (American basis) where you “know” that life will just be different “When I am 16…18…21.”

But my mindset changed after reading As you like it:

William Shakespeare
(from As You Like It Act 2: Scene7)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

I can look at my life, and see how I went through these stages. I was the infant as, obviously, I exist and went through Cognitive Development. At times I feel I barely survived the “school-girl” stage, but I wonder if I will ever leave this stage as I am always learning…As the lover I went trough the darkness of depression.

I think at this stage of the game I am somewhere between the solider and justice – moving forward, no longer fighting as much but ready to settle into life and knowledge.

As it stands, I think the age question is getting to me a lot right now. This year in my family alone, I turn 30, my eldest cousin will be 40; my aunt (mother’s little sister) will be 50, and my mother will be 60 (and she will kill me for saying so, so would her sister). If my grandfather were alive he would be turning 90 on the 4th.

In my own family none of us “look” our age, or “act” our age according to those who watch us – but I also notice we are much happier people as a whole – and I have to wonder if that is because we look at each other as people and not as numbers.