What is it she’s too old for? Racing through airports and ‘Crest’ flavored chocolate

January is a swell time to crystallize your thoughts about where you’ve been and where you’re going. In my case, I’ve realized after the past year or three, a new, important mantra has emerged:

“I’m too old for this.”

That thought hit hard late summer, when my husband and I almost missed an international flight due to a weather delayed connection. We had just landed at Washington’s Dulles Airport, at what seemed like an old temporary-but-permanent annex without jetways. It had a total 1960s grade-school architectural vibe, but with a Jersey Mike’s. The gates there are ground level. The airline had no choice but to let us out of the plane right onto the tarmac.

The first hint of this “too old” awareness kicked in. My initial comment about the outdoor rolling staircase we were forced to lug our spinner cases down was, “This is like that iconic scene when the Beatles arrived in the U.S. It’s probably the same set of metal stairs!”

I was actually born when the British invasion made headlines, but not old enough to read. Yet I know the reference. Old.

Realizing how ancient I must be to refer to the Beatles era grew into a more painful reality moments later. Our asphalt arrival gate was on the total opposite end of our idling overseas plane. We had fewer than 10 minutes to get there.

Our mad dash included long corridors with tile floors, crowded narrow hallways with staggered people movers, staircases, elevators, escalators, a subway tram, more packed hallways with construction-y remodeling obstacles, food courts of mayhem, and gates with reverse numbering to crush one’s “almost there” hopes.

We were running nonstop, probably even jogging in place on the tram, because that gets you there faster. Between deep breaths and dodging folks who stop at the bottom of escalators, I repeated my mantra, “I’m too old for this. I’m too old for this.” We did make it to our flight, but I felt like the stress had pushed me into another decade of biological aging.

So, I’m learning when I think, “I’m too old for this,” I am going to try to not do whatever the “this” is. I can’t begin to tell you how freeing this mantra can be. I will U-turn out of stores with long lines or snooty salespeople. I will reverse out of drive-thru restaurant lanes if there’s too much stagnation in the queue. I will toss dress shoes that keep podiatrists and trauma surgeons too busy.

Two times in the past month, I have snapped back at strangers who made undeserved sarcastic comments to me while I was minding my own business. These incidents taught me when it comes to bleep-able language, I am never too old for that.

I will also never be too old to dance like an idiot at weddings. Or to walk in the rain. Or to admire our nation’s comedians. (We certainly need them these days.) I will never stop planting flowers, even though my back reminded me this past fall that I overdid it with the hyacinth bulbs.

There are, indeed, tasks I should consider I’m “too old” for, but I will forge ahead, anyway. Have you ever carried a vacuum down the stairs, lost your footing, then fell with the vacuum? The trick is to toss the Hoover ahead of you while you’re in midair, and not worry about wall dings or mechanical damage. Metaphor alert: You do what you can to land with minimal injuries. Don’t ask me how I know this. We must improvise in this life. And stock up on aspirin.

But overall, I will never again politely finish a gifted chocolate that seems to be filled with Crest toothpaste. Because I’m too old for that. We all are.

Happy New Year.

Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com.

This story was originally published January 15, 2025 at 5:00 AM.