In My Old Age...

I just took a stretch. (As in a common yawn from boredom, or some other excuse to get up from my computer for a few moments.) Thing is, I used to be able to casually stretch without various, random parts of me snapping and popping and whatnot. In fact, I remember when I used to consider people who popped when they stretched as 'old.'

Those were the days, huh? Back when other people were the old ones. Nowadays, I look at folks still in their twenties and think, "What a young-ass. You may be "invincibe" now, but just wait till you hit that 1,000th pizza. Who’ll be laughing then?"

Oh, did I mention that I look just like my father these days? (Though not quite as "jolly.") And he’s recently taken to hopping about on a cane. Everyday, the future just looks brighter and brighter...

I know, I'm only 35. But of course, by the time your body reaches a certain point, it no longer matters how old you are; because the process of dying must begin at some point, yes? (It’s only natural.) And so whatever age you happen to be at that time, life stops being so much about ‘doing whatever you want to do’ and more so about ‘maintaining what you’ve got left'!

That, my friend, is one the greatest milestones that everyone reaches in life...and I just did!

The above text was originally a journal entry that I wrote back in July of 2005. I'm 39 now, and reading this made me laugh a little. I'm still looking more like my father everyday, in the "jolly" department. But a lot of things—good, bad and just plain weird—have happened to me since that journal entry. So I'm glad to be where I am today. But still not looking forward to turning 40 next year!

—grif