Blog #62: My Age
- Jennifer Butz
- 6 minutes ago
- 2 min read
Some days, I wonder how old I “seem.” It’s not something I thought much about when I was younger, but now? It creeps in—at the doctor’s office, when ordering a coffee (here you go, Ma’am), or when a street busker says “Thanks, Lady!” after I drop a few coins in his guitar case.
Maybe you know the feeling. Maybe you’ve heard it too: “You don’t look your age!” Like it’s supposed to be a compliment, but somehow it lands more like a test I didn’t know I was taking. A veiled warning about what is—or isn’t—appropriate anymore.
The truth? I’ve wrestled with that too. I’ve looked in the mirror and wondered if my story still had room for joy, purpose, adventure... rebellion.
People ask my age like it’s a riddle to be solved, a secret to be cracked, or—worse—a reason to determine what I should or shouldn’t be doing. “I never would’ve guessed your age,” they say, eyes wide with surprise—then drift to the tattoos on my arms. I know they mean it as a compliment, but it always makes me want to respond, “You don’t look like someone who’d say that out loud.”
So here it is: My age is not a liability. It’s not a punchline. It’s not an algorithmic data point or a checkbox on a form that somehow determines my worth.
My age is hard-won.
It’s the sum of wild nights and quiet mornings, of heartbreaks survived, and belly laughs shared. It’s the number of times I’ve had to start over, the zigs and zags that took me across continents, the miles on my feet, and the scars I carry—not just the ones you can see. My age holds the weight of wisdom earned in the messy middle of life, where there are no instructions but plenty of improvisation. It’s the path walked between high highs and low lows—the ones that nearly broke me, and the ones that made me whole.
What I do with my age is a rebellion.
I refuse to shrink, fade, or disappear quietly. I challenge the mirror to tell the whole story—not just what’s reflected but what’s remembered, what’s loved, and what still longs to be lived. This isn’t about pretending to be younger. I’m learning to be unapologetically here, right now, owning every wrinkle like the badge of honor it is.
My age is a portal.
It’s the point where curiosity and courage meet. Where I say yes to some things I once feared and no to things that no longer serve. Where I know that I don’t have to prove myself anymore—but I just might anyway, because I’m still evolving, still dreaming, still raising hell in sensible shoes.
So when someone asks my age, I just say: “My age? Old enough to know that I’m just getting started!”
Come celebrate yours at WonderCrone.com, where we don’t hide our age—we high-five it.