I rolled over another birthday recently.
When I was in my early thirties and my mother was in her middle fifties, I read an article in a women's magazine about being a grownup. The main point of the article was the author's wondering when she would feel like a grownup. I realized then that I didn't feel like a grownup, had no idea what that would feel like.
I told my mother about the article, and she said, "You know, I've been wondering about that, myself." Well... I was surprised that Mama did not feel grownup yet, and I felt a sense of freedom, that I really didn't have to worry about it yet.
As this recent birthday passed, I got to thinking again about that conversation with Mama. I think I have achieved grownupedness. I feel mature enough to deal with life. I'm less intimidated by those above me in the pecking order. New situations don't scare me. I am no longer a person to be messed with.
I am one of those post-WWII baby boomers. I grew up during a time when children were seen and not heard and men were believed to be superior to women in all areas (if that ain't a load of horse manure, I don't know what is). Now that I've gotten over those crappy societal expectations, I'm a happier person.
However... though I feel grown up, I do not feel old.
Growing old is inevitable; growing up is not.