I Don’t Know How Old You Are

Yeah, I’m talking about you — the reader.

I had this strangely intense moment while getting my family set up for a weekend at the lake last Friday. It felt part déjà vu, part imposter syndrome.

In my mind’s eye, when I picture my dad handling something like this, he’s got it completely under control. Fun. Easy.

Me? Forty-one-year-old me — also a dad — was wrestling an overpacked cooler that felt impossibly heavy, wondering if the milk had been at a questionable temperature for too long, and watching the kids dance, yell, cry, and invent new ways to put their bodies in harm’s way.

I wanted to laugh with them, but I also knew one wrong move and the weekend was toast.

I didn’t imagine it would feel like this. I thought getting older would hand me a solid bank of experience that made everything straightforward. That the answers would all be stored somewhere up in my noggin.

They weren’t. They still aren’t. And I think that’s probably true for most of us.

No matter where we find ourselves — a Fortune 500 boardroom, a youth soccer coaches meeting, or standing in front of fancy judges at a popsicle tasting — we all feel some version of the same thing. Unsure. A bit out of our depth. Hoping no one notices.

They say age is only a number.

Regardless of the number, I keep cycling through these feelings:

• Just starting. I’m new to this — and that’s okay.

• In the middle. I should know more than I do, but I’m learning in public anyway.

• Stretched thin. I’m juggling a lot, and the simple things aren’t getting simpler.

• Finding a groove. I’ve got some reps, but I still wonder how everyone else makes it look so easy.

• Letting go. I don’t need to prove anything. I’m here to enjoy what I can. (I find myself here less than I’d like.)

These aren’t tied to a birthday. Some days, I’m all five before lunch.

The confidence we imagine older people having? A mirage. They’re figuring it out too — with a few more wrinkles and slightly more expensive snacks.

The best way to say it is this: the voice in their head doesn’t age.

I don’t know exactly what to do with that, but it gives me peace.

I’ll die feeling curious, confused, a little scared — and, if I can help it, having fun.