Typically I was always friends with people older than I by at least a decade. As I have gotten older that pool of older people – older than I – have decreased and now I also have younger friends who, like me back then, enjoy the company of someone more “seasoned”.
Because my behavioral age has not equated my chronological age, on a one to one basis, I fail to see the difference between us and because thankfully there is no mirror to evaluate my reflection against theirs, I do not see my age marks or lines.When in groups that appreciation changes and I see the differences distinctively; their friends’ manners or lack of make me cringe every time I find myself surrounded by their youth. What I would only dare do in the privacy of my bathroom - provided there is no one in the house - seems to be celebrated amongst the youngsters. “Must you?” I dare ask.
I easily blame the difference in (dis)taste or upbringing in our marked abyss in age, and then when I’m surrounded by those my age, I find myself also cringing from time to time, but this time not finding a reason to blame it on.
Youth, divine treasure.