Katie and I met at the start of the pandemic when she joined my online yoga class. She recently came to visit in person for a few days. We get along great, have a lot in common, and Beryl loves her very much. It’s a delight to spend time with her.
But here’s a thing that makes me pause: Katie’s half my age. And though I have her pegged as a like-minded friend and sister, Katie referred to me and Tod as “adopted parents” which…well…yeah, right?
That moment went on repeat in my brain.
You’ve seen the movie, Everything Everywhere All At Once (if you haven’t, please put it on your must-watch list). I feel like I exist on a thread that weaves through the multiverse as part of the cosmic tapestry woven by the Fates. I dwell on the spectrum of everything; I’m a little of this, a little of that. My curious nature has granted me myriad experiences. I have labels and self-perceptions that allow me latch on to whatever catches my whim and matches the people I’m engaging with.
Apparently one gaping blind spot in my personal multiverse is generations.
Societally, I understand generational divisions. I’m GenX in the US – what a blessing and a curse that is. In Japan generations are assigned differently; I’d be Bubble Generation or New Breed here. I have friends and acquaintances in just about all the generations.
But I am not a parent and as a result I don’t have a strong personal sense of generational divide. I suspect friends with children can calculate at a glance: “This colleague about the same age as my child, so I am a parent figure to them.” Or it might go level deeper: “That cute baby is the same age as my grandchild.”
It is certainly age-appropriate for me to be a parent figure to a younger friend like Katie. But it’s confusing. Aren’t I a spirit outside time?
For me, people of all ages are friends or fellow humans. I should keep in mind that my generation-blind experience is not unique, but perhaps not widely shared. Next time a friend calls me a parent figure, I’ll be less shocked.
No, I won’t.
