I am not a 20-year-old hipster. I am undeniably a mid-life suburban mom.
This fact was driven home on Monday while I was still hanging out with Oldest in her very trendy, hipster neighborhood. We walked to the coffee shop around the corner, and I realized I must be sticking out like a sore thumb. Mom jeans, mom hoodie jacket, mom jewelry, mom comfy shoes.
It wasn’t like I was way older than anyone else there. But the others my age hanging out in this coffee shop definitely looked a lot more interesting than boring old, suburban me. Long hair. Long beards. Birkenstocks. Torn jeans. Concert tee shirts.
Here’s the thing: I FEEL like a 20-year-old hipster. I have a feeling that when I’m 75 and wearing a track suit and orthopedic shoes every day (But NOT a plastic rain bonnet. NEVER a plastic rain bonnet) I will still feel like a 20-year-old hipster in my own mind.
This realization reminds me of a poem in a book our kids and I loved when they were little. From “Soap Soup and Other Verses” by Karla Kuskin (and I’m probably remembering this verse slightly wrong, but it was along these lines):
The me that is inside of me
Is not the me that you can see.
I can’t help but think that if I feel this way about the inner me and the outer me, other people probably feel it about themselves, too.
What might happen if we all considered this possibility and looked for that “me that is inside of me” in each other?