letter #37

Wait! What? Was I just youngsplained?

My dear friend

I had one of those conversations last week, the type that starts out fine. The type of conversation that appears to be nothing more than a simple conversation that comes from being with people across the course of a day, on a topic of of whatever is happening right then. A conversation so straightforward that it’s almost as if it’s scripted. There’s nothing at stake, no enormous conclusions to be acted on, no consequences if you leave with no conclusions. A conversation that is just part of the everyday experience of being a human interacting with other humans with whom you share regular, but superficial interactions.

At least that’s how it starts. But then, while it maintains this semblance of simplicity, the conversations becomes something more, something you don’t quite understand. And you are a feeling a little unsettled, because something has gone a bit wonky in this conversation, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is that is wonky.

That’s what was happening with this conversation.

Nothing about the conversation changed. It was a conversation, after an exercise class, about how much we love or hate lunges, how much we love or hate the cardio. Now, in truth, this kind of exchange isn’t really a conversation. Really it is people talking to themselves. None of us cares whether someone else does or doesn’t like lunges, we just want an opportunity to express that we do (or don’t). And to have that opportunity we must also give others their opportunity. It’s the adult equivalent of a toddler’s parallel play. Like I say, it’s all part of the experience of being a human interacting with other humans as you go about your day.

Except.

As we finished the stretching part of the class (‘I love this quad stretch’ ‘I need to do my calves’), there was something in the dynamics of the conversation that changed. My place in the conversation shifted. Or perhaps, more precisely, my perception of where I stood in the dynamics of that conversation had been mistaken. So what happened was not that my place in the conversation shifted, but rather, that I started to understand how others saw my place in that conversation.

So here I was, in this seemingly everyday conversation, but now feeling that there was something going on although I couldn’t pinpoint what, and keeping on with the conversation, even though there was a little something in my brain thinking, ‘There’s something going on here, Tracy, there’s something more to this conversation than whether or not you like lunges.’

But it wasn’t until I was in the car, checking my mirrors before I reversed that I said—out loud and rather loud—‘Wait! I’ve just been youngsplained!’

I had thought that they (we) were talking about how to keep up an exercise plan as you got older and your body starts to change, but as I hit reverse in the car I realised that we weren’t talking about anything. Rather they were telling me about how to exercise. The turning point of the conversation came, I realised later, when I said how much I was enjoying this new gym because it had female instructors around my age and what a difference it is making to the quality of the exercise I do. I mean, it’s ironic that this would shift the conversation in the manner that it did, but it’s also typical of conversations between people who are in their forties and people who are in their fifties (and, yes, I absolutely see times I myself have been a youngsplainer). Because being in early middle age gives you an insight into being early middle aged, but not into being middle middle aged. And it’s no use saying, ‘You just have to push through,’ when pushing through probably means permanent damage to your rotator cuff.

I think the peak youngsplaining moment was when they started on about the importance of being a role model to my children and one of them said at me and definitely not to me and certainly not with me, ‘I’m not a good swimmer, but I do swimming lessons at the same time as my children so that they can understand you do things even when they don’t come easy.’ Hahahahaha. Swimming lessons at the same time as my children, yes, okay, thanks for the suggestion.

Anyway, I guess the main reason this took me by surprise is that I didn’t realise I was so far into middle age that I could be youngsplained by people who are themselves middle aged.

After such a tumultuous week, I was happy to spend the weekend getting stuck into the autumn pruning of my garden listening to magpies and to eucalyptus leaves brushing against each other, and being stared at by white-winged choughs, and being grateful that the reptiles I saw had legs. I sent texts to my children about how much fun I was having. ‘All good?’ I asked. Hours after I sent the text they replied with a thumbs up react.

Something else happened which, at the time, made me think, ‘Oh, I must include that in my letter.’ But I didn’t write it down, and now I can’t remember what it was, and I want to get this letter finished in time to make this afternoon’s mail. Whatever it was that happened will come back to me as soon as I hear the thud of the letter as it hits the bottom of the mailbox. But I’m sure when it does I’ll think, ‘Oh, well, I don’t think anyone’s life is diminished by not hearing that story.’

I will write again soon, my lovely friend, with more news of my fascinating life, but until then I will think of you, as always, with love and affection.

You friend

Tracy

PS I made you a playlist.