A Strange Sort of Sandwich

I was telling a friend of mine the other day that I've found myself in a "sandwich generation" of sorts. Not the kind that they talk about in AARP Magazine or on the morning talk shows. 
Nope. 
At thirty, I'm not working out plans to take care of aging parents at the same time as I'm chasing down rugrats of my own. 
The sandwich generation to which I'm referring would be the one where, at thirty years-old, I'm being propositioned by eighty year-old men and asked out on dates by twenty year-olds. One is too young, and the other...well, I'll just say they're too old and leave it at that.
I'm sandwiched between age groups.
And sandwiched between being creeped-out and flattered. 
It's definitely an odd place to be, and not really one I'd given much consideration until now.
Especially since, when I got married, I thought I was done with all that.
True, the validation would have been nice, since that seems to be the slippery slope of married life––you lose that feeling of being attractive to other people, so you start to wonder...
But now––as a widow––if I get asked out, I have a choice. 
Not that I get asked out much. 
In fact, so rare is the occurrence that it's newsworthy.
But I digress.
I'm at an odd place in life, for sure. 
An odd, unexpected place.
Which, strange as it may sound, leaves me somewhat hopeful.
After all, sometimes it's being at the unexpected places at unexpected times that brings us unexpected joys and gifts.
We never imagined this life, so we could never have imagined the possibilities it would bring.
I don't know about you, but I have a pretty colorful imagination, but even my sense of the sensational is stumped by all the twists and turns my life has taken since I began my plunge into the pool of life as a writer. 
I could never have written this.
Six years in, and every day is still a surprise.
Sometimes its stressful, sometimes its blissful.
However my days unfold, one thing is sure: I'm sandwiched in the emotions of agony and ecstasy, often caught between fear and faith.
What does your sandwich look like?