My Boston Terrier, Ma'amie, is 14.5 years old. If you know about dogs, then you know that this is actually quite old for a Boston Terrier. Up until a year ago, it was difficult to guess her age. Yes, she went prematurely grey, but she's been an athlete her whole life, and her passion for the tennis ball fueled her energy.
When you're 30, you're the star of your life, the universe revolving around you for your viewing pleasure. Life is about the next job, who you're going to love, friends or couples you click with, where you're going to eat. Flash forward a decade or two and you're knee deep in marriage and children and mortgages.
I have a solemn confession to make. In a couple months, I am turning 50. Even as I type this I'm imagining anyone affiliated with my career making a frantic dash for my computer. 'You work in television, you can't admit that! Quick, say that you're turning 8. Or that you haven't been born yet.' Please.
How do you know when you're old? None of my peers seem to know they're old. Even after they see their wrinkles and gray hair, whine about arthritic pain and celebrate another monumental birthday, all I ever hear them say is, "I'm getting old." They don't get the connection between those old age signs and actually being old.
Michelle Obama turned 50 recently. And while everyone was saying, 'Oh, isn't it great, Michelle Obama is 50!' I was looking in the mirror saying, 'I'm older than the president's wife?!?' For the first time in my personal history, the first lady is younger than I am. And that's not sitting very well with me.