This morning, I read a fascinating article by a mother who spent a year in Paris, hoping it would transform her two young sons into model citizens. The entire article was gripping (needless to say, things did not go as planned), but this line jumped out:
Once, when I was eight or nine, [my mother] told me her theory that everyone had two ages, an actual age and a spiritual age. “For example,” she said, “I’m always going to feel seventeen.” She glanced at me through cigarette smoke. “And you’re always going to feel 40.”
How old are you (truly), and what’s your spiritual age? For some reason, I always secretly think I’m 27. Three-year-old Toby acts like a 15-year-old guy in his high school theatre program, and Anton is an 80-year-old trapped in a chubby baby body.