inspired by a friend's writeup ...
Well, yeah, I admit it. Earlier this year, when I turned 50 in February, 2007, without really thinking about it, I was indeed bemoaning the fact, albeit subconsciously. I wasn't about to admit to myself that I was sort of gloomy about hitting the half-century mark, because I'd spent a lot of time telling myself that it didn't matter. Age is just another damn number, and damned if I can remember who said or sang that.
Anyway, now in August I'm at the 50-and-a-half mark. And I've spent thought time over the last six months digesting (no, I won't say “processing”) the fact that I've racketed about the planet for so long. I suppose it may have bounced up into consciousness when I received my AARP card a few months ago. Geez, I thought, I really am one of those people now. Mind you, the many discounts, services, and the prospect of signing up for AARP's health insurance (thus freeing myself from employer-based insurance, may the Gods be praised) helped soften the blow.
Then I thought about it some more. I cheered up and realized I'm in pretty good shape for an old boy. I don't have a lot of vanity about my looks, but they've retained enough youthfulness that most people I know can't believe I'm that aged ... or at least that's what they say. Everything on me seems to still work OK (everything, thank you!) and I don't yet have “good days” and “bad days”. I've arrived at the time where I can smile at the antics of my much-younger friends and remark, “ah, well, (s)he's young” with what I think is a wise look on my face. And I bring, I hope, to E2 some of the wisdom and maturity I fancy I've accumulated over the years.
I considered people I know in their 70s and 80s, still active, still working, still so very alive. My father, for example ... 71 this year, and remodeling parts of his house himself, doing things that might tax a 30-year-old's abilities. Tom's grandmother, 76 and such a powerhouse that she leaves us all in the dust. “Fifty is the new thirty” is my mantra now, and I'll keep repeating it until I don't have to. It occurred to me that, upon my fiftieth birthday, I entered upon the second half of my life ... and, to pull out another old cliché, the journey is the reward. It's fun to be an elder.
But when I'm truly old, I shall most definitely not wear purple. It's not my color.