My dad was walking along 3rd street downtown sometime in the great middle of his life and he looked sideways at what he thought to be his father walking along beside him. It was, of course, his own image reflected in storefront glass. He realized in that instant that his subjective age did not align with his actual age. Most of us struggle with where we are in time. Even 17 year olds do this, perceiving their subjective age to be greater than it is, eager to be taken seriously as adults, even though their prefrontal cortex is basically 1.21 Gigawatts of jumbled uninsulated electrical wire arcing across all five senses.

As people age, this reverses. For instance, my mom is 88, and she told me that she is 75 in her head. But I asked my 32-year-old daughter how old she was in her head, and she said 32. No kidding. Even Christian theologians find thirtysomething to be a compelling age, asking the fascinating question, “How old are people in Heaven?” The most common answer is 33, partly because of Jesus’ age at the crucifixion. Most of us gravitate along a strong impulse to be who we were when we still had unanswered questions but seemingly unlimited potential. In other words, we mostly think of ourselves as younger than we are. A good friend just told me that he is starting a new business at the age of 57. He told me the age in his head is 50. 

Thus, we live in moments along a timeline, but reminiscence draws us back to a place when feelings were intense, and the world was our oyster. As Nathaniel Hawthorne once wrote, “Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” This is why many of my Spotify playlists tend to run shamelessly into different iterations of Jimmy Buffet, Van Morrison, and U2. Music etches itself deeply into our most intense moments. 

My personal assessment of the subjective age in my head is 45 (I’m 64). I know this is way off, but it is consistent with my scientific evaluations from Facebook pictures of friends from college and from attending high school reunions. Not to mention the Paul McCartney concert I attended where everyone was twenty years older than me, or so it seemed. I wonder about McCartney at age 81. Does he have a subjective age in his head as he is singing, Hey Jude. Na…nana…nananana…I feel 29. Most of us who are older, perceive our subjective age to be less, as if old age is anathema. We look in mirrors and are startled, as if there has been some sort of mistake. While we gravitate toward the need to subtract, a more credible answer could be that viewing yourself as younger is a form of optimism. It says that you envision productive years ahead.

But for some of us, having a subjective age too far below our actual age can lead to social awkwardness. I think of myself as beyond recognition, that twenty year olds only believe me to be twenty-five years older and still in touch with all the settings on my Iphone, until I say something to the cashier like, “Hold on a minute, I think I have exact change.” Recently, a Starbucks employee was making genial morning conversation, which I respect, but don’t enjoy, before my coffee is in my hand. This inter-generational banter stopped me in my tracks. The barely out of high school barista handed over my coffee and said, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Bruce Willis?” I immediately replied, “Moonlighting, Die Hard, or Sixth Sense?” She looked befuddled, like she was trying to figure out how to write out a million dollar check in cursive and she said, “Bruce Willis was in Moonlighting?” She had no clue that he once had a nice head of hair, and then the recession traced the path of least resistance through his subsequent films, until there was simply a finely shaped cue ball.

Moments like these remind me that I’m dealing with someone who has a wildly different perspective and memory than I, and that our conversations are appropriately asymmetric because of this time and age abyss.

I’m happy with my age. I think most of us would say the same. Time gives us a bountiful harvest of wisdom, self-worth, and memory. But I also think it is healthy to see ourselves as younger. That doesn’t make us delusional. It just means there are more trails left to blaze, more hope to fuel our adventures, flavored with a realistic acceptance of our actual age.