I was having dinner with my mum the other day, sopping up bowls of Ghormeh Sabzi with this really soft potatoey Afghan bread, when the subject of “spiritual ages” came up. “How old do you think I am?” she asked, not referring to her chronological age, of which I am of course aware, but something more intrinsic. I paused for a while, and then we both said it at the same time: “12.”
Obviously my mother is not 12 years old, but something about that age rings true when I think about her. It’s hard to put my finger on, but it’s an essence, a sort of central mode of being, as if her true self was moulded at that age, or something. It’s not easy to explain without getting too abstract about it. “What age are you inside?” she asked me then, as we both heaped piles of buttery rice onto our plates. My answer was a bit more complicated, as I think I have three ages, one of which I haven’t even reached yet: “11, 17 and 42.”
While the idea of a spiritual or internal age might sound like nonsense, if you ask most people what theirs is, they usually have an answer. This age does not tend to change over time. It’s the age they will always be, like a star sign. My wife, we both agree, is actually “a 70-year-old man who used to be a rocker”, and also a “hyperactive teenage girl”. Her internal age combines with a switch in gender, a core self that is at odds with her external appearance. When I asked my colleague Hayley how old she is inside, she answered immediately and without hesitation “72”. But also, she added, after mulling it over, “six months old”. Another friend of mine replied with “anywhere between 13 and 19, which is why having a job is so unfair”.
You’d think that the age you feel – as opposed to the age you are – wouldn’t make much material difference. We all get older and experience the march of time if we’re lucky, regardless of whether our minds still feel like 11 year olds who like playing The Sims (me). But the truth isn’t so cut and dry. Plenty of research suggests that the age you feel does make a difference to your physical self. In a 2018 South Korean study involving brain scans, scientists discovered that those who felt younger than their age had thicker brain matter and had endured less age-related deterioration. By contrast, studies show that those who feel older are at an increased risk for hospitalisation, depressive symptoms and sleep conditions. What this means for those who feel both elderly and also a baby remains to be seen (I’d also wager that these studies are less focused on “spiritual” ages, and more on how the body physically feels). But it’s interesting nonetheless.
One theory I have with regards to internal age – and I’m obviously not a scientist, nor is this based on anything other than general vibe – is that we tend to gravitate towards those in similar ballparks. Two of my good friends have said that they also occasionally feel like teenagers, even though they’re in their thirties. When we hang out, I sometimes feel like we’re mates kicking about after school on the way to the mall or something. We play Dance Mat in my living room. I feel comfortable with them because I have an inner teen self too. Although my friend Emily reckons it’s because so many millennials have experienced a sort of mass infantilisation due to not being able to afford certain milestones, like buying a house or having kids. “We’re more focused on what brings us joy, which for me is silly little outings and playing video games,” she says.
I get what Emily’s saying, and I definitely agree, although I also think that societal conditions aren’t the only thing that shapes our internal age, and in some ways it’s just something you’re born with – or is at least present early on. There are some people, for instance – and you can probably think of a few – who just don’t suit being babies. They are meant to be older. When I see photos of my wife as a baby she looks uncomfortable, as if she were never meant to be so out-of-control. I feel the same way about Dame Helen Mirren. Other people, like Leonardo DiCaprio, are eternal youngsters, even at 50 years old. I have a hunch that if you asked Leo how old he feels, he wouldn’t say 50.
Ultimately, of course, age is mostly meaningless – aside from being a broad indicator of your experience levels, life stage and physical health (and I say mostly because, though a part of me feels 17, I’m not about to start hanging out with any actual 17 year olds, with whom I would have nothing in common). The way in which you approach life is probably a lot more important than the actual number. So next time you feel like asking someone how old they are, maybe backtrack and ask them a different question: How old are you inside?
