To paraphrase Aunt Pitty-Pat Hamilton, “How did 41 ever get in?”
Today I was born. As a consequence, I am here. My mother use to tell me that on the day I was born the temperature was about a gazillion degrees. It came a big ol’ storm and knocked the power out for three days. According to her, she was in labor for almost a year. I’m uncertain to this day if she was trying to make me feel guilty about something. Whatever. I’ve always known how to make an entrance.
It seems to me that I’ve been stuck at age 26 for the past 16 years. A few years back I noticed the first strands of grey creeping into my hair and I thought, “what the fuck? I’m only 26??” Way to go for ruining the illusion, hair. It’s okay. When my son turned 15 this year I thought, “what the fuck? He’s only five??” At least I am consistent.
It’s not that getting older bothers me, it’s that older means that I am getting older. How did this happen to me? What higher power did I offend? Wait, that’s a question I NEVER want answered. *cough cough* moving right along.
Here I am, doing a job I’ve never really cared for, trying to write, trying to raise kids without them killing each other (or me, for that matter), and the old saying must be true: its not the years, its the mileage. I’m 41 but feel roughly 61. I have an old man cough, blood sugar problems, and my temper these days is as surly as an old wet dog.
It occurred to me that I could whine about all the things I have not accomplished yet. Since somewhere in the world at this moment somebody else is no doubt doing that same exact thing, I figured I would at least spare myself. It does bother you though when you look at your life and see a big fat zilch staring back at you.
That could be an overreaction. I presume that I’ve accomplished a few things considering the fact that I haven’t bothered to die yet. I would say that not dying opens the door to a great many opportunities. I know. I’m a glass is half full sort of dude — ha ha ha.
When I was younger, whenever I encountered someone older than myself at the time, I would laugh because they were older than me. Now that I’m 41 I understand just how rude that was. Forgive me, people older than me then. By the way, you’re older than me now. Not being an ass. I’m just sayin’.
I’ve always heard certain people talk about growing old gracefully, how age is just a number, and how you are only as old as you feel. Today, I would like to set the record straight— those people are full of crap. Yes, age advice giver, you are old and so am I. Since we haven’t died yet we should at least be honest with each other.
A friend of mine asked recently, “if you are like this at 41, how are you going to be at 51?” To that I responded, “what the fuck? Dude, I’m only 26!”