Later, when my wife and I had started dating, a young man (who had, as an important bit of context, been spurned by my then-fiancee) informed her that she was going to marry “an 84 year old man!”
I was then—and am today—utterly tickled.
I heard a podcast today that said it this way: while young I was old, and now, while old, I feel young.
Now, in fairness, I’ve recently seen some hubbub about how being called an “old soul” isn’t a particularly helpful thing if the “old soul” is actually autistic, has ADHD, is odd, or should have been diagnosed with serious depression. This is a big deal. We try to come up with euphemisms for weird kids when sometimes it might help them if we talk about how they’re weird. Diagnosis is one reason, but another is that it normalizes weird—a good thing, in my book—rather than trying to whitewash it away into nothingness with subtle branding like “wise child!”
I get it. It’s worth being sensitive about.
Ultimately, though, I am an old soul—and it’s a core part of who I am. I don’t apologize for it; when people called me “old” when I was young, they were right. And it’s a great way to live! I recommend enthusiastically!
I’ve wondered, since, if it’s because I was the youngest in a family of older siblings. Maybe I wanted to fit in. Maybe I wanted to be taken seriously. I don’t know. I think it has less to do with siblings, and more to do with a seriousness of purpose—a willingness to say “if that’s true, there are implications.” I was 13 and wrestling with deep philosophy—not because I wanted to or because it was fun, but because it was obviously morally requisite. Now I am 37, and I savor the giggle of my three-year-old for the sake of the same moral requirement. It’s simply the right thing to do.
What else would someone do?
I want to wholeheartedly endorse this kind of “old soul”edness, because there is nothing better than taking serious questions seriously as a child—a “sober” youth, you might say—while still laughing in wonder like (and often with!) a child as you grow mature.
I remember when I was sitting next to my grandfather in church when I was young. It was the old 1st ward building, which means it was when I was very young. He looked at me and said something like “you are 6-going-on-37.” It was filled with appreciation, and I’ve always taken it as a compliment.
Yoda and Gandalf? The oldest of old men. And young at heart—happy to play with the kids and laugh about fireworks.
So yes, let’s be sensitive. Let’s be careful not to pretend away the serious things.
But I couldn’t be more grateful for the high compliment of having a sober soul, and a wise spirit.