The New Generation

The working world belongs to the young. At least my new working world does.
Most of the people at my freelance office here in London, a television company, are around 30 years old, give or take a few years.
Which is kinda fun, but also scary. They're all cool, and really techy.
I feel really old, but my husband says it's good for me. I'll learn a lot. It'll keep me sharp.
Shut up.
Everyone has been super-friendly and really helpful. They've made me feel welcome. It's a friendlier work environment than my old newspaper, if truth be told.
Most of the employees here are young, hip Brits, but there's some young Americans, too, a smattering of Europeans, and some nomadic types, transplants who have grown up in various parts of the world. An Arab-American woman I was working with today actually spent most of her childhood as a diplomat's daughter in Finland, of all places.
It's a cool work environment, a huge roomful of young, attractive, friendly people. There's a few people more my age, but they're all in the offices with the windows.
I'm in the big room with all the young'uns. I'm not sure I belong there. I have to wear my glasses to see my computer screen.
Don't notice anyone else wearing reading glasses. One cool Spanish dude wears a thick headband over dreadlocks, but haven't seen a single pair of magnifiers.
Yesterday, a young, cute American woman in a belted polka-dotted dress under a short, nipped jacket, smiled and waved at me across the big room, and then laughed as I got closer and said she had mistaken me for someone who's on maternity leave.
Wow. Does that young woman have any idea how long it's been since I was on maternity leave?
Try not to tell anyone.