Hello. I'm 37 Now.

 I realized I was 37 yesterday.  

Just sitting on the couch.  Minding my business.  When all of the sudden I realized I was thirty-seven.  Do you understand what I'm saying?  DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING?!

I was fifteen years old when my mom was 37 (?).  My dad was working for the United States' House of Representatives when he was 37 (?).

What.  "Wut."

I take comfort in the (many.  many.) articles and studies and graphs and tables that tell my generation, over and over, that we actually have a life progress handicap of something like 10 years compared to our parents.  So really, me at 37 is actually them at 27.  

Actually this is not comforting now that I think about it again.

But it seems generally true if I get specific.  I probably have close to (or...actually less than...most likely) the same salary my Dad did when he was 27.  My parents had a five year old and a one year old when they were 27.  That's not too far off my mark now.  I'm fairly confident they were driving old, used, four-door sedans they had had since early in their marriage when they were 27 - hey, sounds familiar.  

I could say that at 37 we're a bit "ahead" of them at 27 because our degrees maybe?  I had two masters degrees before I turned 30.  Paul got a PhD right before he turned 30.  But sometimes I wonder if we would have gotten those degrees if, well, if there had been any jobs to go to that had any stability or promise or pathway.  School was the way we could try and wait things out in that second half of the 2000s.  A way that felt like it was safer for our resumes and long-term prospects, even though it meant our retirement account balance was literally $0 until we were 32.  (Don't even get me started on how "vesting requirements" took us right back down to practically $0 again when we moved a few years ago.)

But see now, here's the thing.  If me at 37 is them at 27...then that's not great.  Because my hip already hurts when I try to jog a quarter mile.  Me at 37 is not the same as me at 27.  Physically.  Mentally.  I don't have ten extra years hanging around in me to just coast on into retirement.  I will be just as tired just as early - I don't magically get some secret power so that I get 10 extra years of youth because I was born in 1984.  BUT I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT.

I am frustrated hearing that same Peter Pan-ish drumbeat...so frustrated -- "30 is the new 20!"  "40 is the new 30!"...  But I don't feel 27...  I feel 37.  Because I am 37.

And look.  We're fine.  We use this phrase a lot now.  "Look at us.  Look - we're doing fine.  We're so lucky. We're going to be ok."  But it's an odd tone we take.  I think because we realize sometimes that our measurement of "fine" is in comparison to the bulk of our generational peers, but not necessarily in comparison to quantitative benchmarks of security ("Your Mint.com app wants to show you how your net worth compares to other 30-somethings in your area!"  But not: "Mint.com wants to show you if you're on track for being able to occasionally eat out when you're 75.").  I have no doubt that if my parents, at 37, had the same investment portfolio we have right now, that they would NOT be laying in bed at night and whispering to the ceiling how grateful they were that they were doing fine.  They probably wouldn't be sleeping at all.  

But this is what fine is now for us of the millennial type.  Fine is saying, "We can pull from our emergency fund to pay the $5000 for our son's surgery next month."  Fine is saying, "I'm so glad interest rates are so low because it will make that loan we need to fix the bathroom easier to pay off."  Fine is saying, "We could make things work with just one car, if we need it...We really could..."    And sincerely saying all those things with complete gratitude.

I got on here to quip some joke about realizing I was old, really realizing it.  That took a turn.  

But look here.  We're actually fine, you know.  We're fine.

WELCOME TO MY BLOG THAT IS NOW ABOUT BEING OLD AND RESPONSIBLE FOR THINGS!