The first tremors of the Apocalypse of Aging hit a few years ago — when we realized that the AARP magazine was the most interesting read in the house. Obviously, there was something seriously wrong here: Bill and I couldn’t possibly be old enough to be the target audience. There was also something seriously wrong with Willie Nelson gracing the cover. His chronological age didn’t matter; why would a country music outlaw be featured in a mainstream senior magazine? The world is spinning out of kilter when the dissidents of my youth have become respectable.

I’d always heard that people grow more conservative as they age. And I vowed early on this would never happen to me. As a teenager, I prided myself on being a non-conformist — whatever that means when you’re a middle-class kid in a small town. I was outspoken. I challenged authority. I wore tie-dyes and camo pants instead of the Reagan-era uniform of button-down oxfords and chinos. So, in retrospect, I represented a Wonder bread version of rebellion, but I still took great pride in going my own way.

Recently, I was reminded of this when a high school friend, Bill Brosen, sent me an article about Alice Roosevelt. Alice was Teddy’s impetuous daughter who turned both the White House and polite society upside down. In exasperation, Teddy once pronounced, “I can either run the country or I can attend to Alice, but I cannot possibly do both.” Alice was spirited and scandalous; intelligent and witty.

Brosen’s message to me was, “All I could think was she [Alice] reminded me of you … the great disrupter.” As I flexed my long-neglected rebel muscles, I felt honored. With Springsteen’s “Born to Run” echoing through my brain, my teenage self was reawakened.

But later that day, I ran into a kind lady, who sweetly shared that she enjoyed reading this column. In turn, I blushed and awkwardly tried to show my sincere gratitude. To be honest, I always secretly puff up with pride when someone says they’re a reader. Ah, but hubris is a dangerous thing.

As I was internally basking in this glory, she added, “It’s just nice to read something so wholesome.”

I knew it was meant as a compliment, and I took it as such.

But it shook me to the core.

This description was in stark contrast to how I have always defined myself. Had I sold out in my old age? I can accept that I will never wear a bikini again, that my high heels have been replaced by sensible shoes, and that my music is referred to as classic rock. But has anyone who was born to buck the system ever been called wholesome?

Wholesome — soothing like a glass of milk and a plateful of cookies. Moral, uplifting and virtuous … wait a minute. These are all positive attributes.

Actually, why would this be a problem?

After some soul searching, I realized these traits weren’t flaws, and in a weird, twisted way being “wholesome” made me a bit of a maverick. This epiphany was a relief, as it linked my fiery dissidence with my more mature approach. This change in method I attribute to my wise husband. He has gently reminded me throughout our marriage that “You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”

And what are the mainstream inclinations that I am sweetly combatting?

Ironically, a phrase that has been bandied about, “Politeness is a poison” has my blood boiling. I respectfully disagree. Being polite doesn’t mean giving in.

Politeness is a bridge and indication of respect, no matter where you might stand on a subject. Abrasiveness is a wall leading to an “us against them” mentality. In reality, there is no “them,” there is only “us.” So if I am guilty of going against the grain by seeing the best in people, honoring their ideas, and keeping things light, let that be my rebellion.

When Willie Nelson was asked about remaining true to himself while aging, he answered, “I don’t think that my attitude has changed. I’m still doing what I want to do, and I suggest everybody do the same thing.” So, Willie, you haven’t sold out, but have I?

As I sit in the dark, drinking my coffee, and listening to the morning news, I go through a self-evaluation.

Has my attitude changed?

Nope.

Am I more conservative?

I don’t think so.

Am I still a disrupter at heart?

A definite yes, but a much more civil one.

So, what is the result?

I guess that makes me a Milk and Cookies Renegade.

And I’m okay with that.

But for now, I will pass on the prune bars. Let’s leave those for the old folks.