I’ve always wanted to be on a list. I wouldn’t have to be first on the list. I just want to be included. And specifically I’ve always wanted to be on a wunderkind type of list. (Although I always thought it was “wunderkid,” which sounds way more cool and superhero-like.)
You know like this sort of thing:
25 Millionaires Under 25
30 under 30–Up and Comers to Keep an Eye On
Now, I’m almost older than 39 and I’m no longer a kid of any kind. In fact, according to the demographic groupings on more than one website, I’m “middle aged.”
Middle age freaks me out because with it comes under-eye bags, neck waddle (and apparently arm waddle in my case), and age spots. It also means old hands. When I was growing up, there were TV ads asking the viewer to guess if the hands belonged to the mother or daughter. Do you remember those? You could always tell whose hand was whose. I don’t remember being shocked at the reveal. But the fact that those mothers didn’t have gnarled, splotchy, vein ridden claws is kind of awe-inspiring as I look down at my own hands typing this post.
How did I get on the topic of hands? Well, no matter. (See: SIS, Stressed Induced Senility). So, what I meant to be the whole point of this is the shocking and sad realization that I’m never going to be on a “40 Under 40” list or any other kind of list for that matter–unless it is a snack list, a PTO committee list or an office phone extension list.
And that realization hit me today as I read Forbes magazine’s The World’s 100 Most Powerful Women.
I didn’t make the cut this year, while Beyonce (#18), Indra Nooyi (#4), and Ann Curry (#66) did. But I did scan the whole list for my name.
Oh well, there is always next year.
http://www.forbes.com/wealth/power-women/list
