What’s My Age Again?

So the other day I came across this question:
“If you did not know your own age, how old would you believe yourself to be?”

All right, let that sink in. It’s crazy! My first thought is, “my own age, of course.” That’s because I’m basically “on track” for an American my age. I’ve been out of college in the “real world” for a year. I don’t have a lot of money in my bank account, I don’t have a lot of possessions, and I’m single. These would be clues for me that I’m in my early twenties. But what if I had no idea about any exterior circumstances or hints? What if you woke up one morning and were in an empty room, with no other ideas about your life, and had to decide how old you were? It kind of freaks me out a little when I think about it, like trying to wrap my mind around the concept of eternity. How old do I feel? I’ve felt older than some 40-year-olds I’ve met, and younger than some 12-year-olds. Sometimes I still want to throw a fit when I have to do un-fun stuff like get my car washed or figure out my benefits package at work. Does that lower my age? But the experiences I’ve had, the places I’ve been, and the people I’ve met all disqualify me, in my opinion, from being any younger than 20. I’m not usually this philosophical, I promise. But lately, whenever my brain has any “dead air” time, this question comes swooping in and gives me goosebumps.


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