In my prime, or past it?

I'll admit it - in recent days/weeks I had been feeling pretty smug about my position in life. I felt as though I finally got my bearings on toddler-raising, and was beginning to anticipate and defuse meltdowns about to surface. Work was under control, I was exercising regularly, and I even was becoming a frequent contributor to a group blog. Then it happened...the thing that crushed my self-confidence and ego under its giant foot, sending me spiraling down into a morass of self-pity. I learned that I, in my 34-1/2 years on this earth, am old.

Granted, the pronouncement wasn't directly aimed at me, but rather couched in the terms of some of the hot clubs attracting an "older crowd" - in their definition, those "pushing 30." Not only am I no longer pushing 30, 30 has turned around and is kicking my ass up the ladder towards 40. The funny thing is, though, that now I am no longer relevant to hip twentysomethings, I am newly relevant to coworkers and business world VIPs.

Two weeks ago, my office had a breakfast to meet the new chairman of our board. She was even so nice as to pretend to remember me from a previous job I had held three years ago. Afterwards, according to a report from an office VP, she commented that not only was she impressed that I had such a great job for someone so young (she called me "smart"), she also thought I was pretty (she called me "pretty"). It's good to have the chairman like you.

So, the opinion of a vapid twentysomething wannabe socialite, I may be old...but I like to think I'm just better.