PBS music specials actually intrigue you. You get your first gray hair. You'd rather listen to NPR than the top 40. You finally understand that channel surfing is borne of frustration not attention deficit. The three letter word you fixate on is NAP. You comprehend why age and treachery will always trump youth and beauty.
So I wanted this to be blithe, but I find that soul bearing is not my forte. Granted I admit I was less than thrilled to have a gray hair of my very own. But the thought of aging gracefully seems to be easier for the male sex. Not without its shortcomings mind you. I mean who is really thrilled by the prospect of ear, nose, and toe hair? But I don't feel the biological clock tick, tick, ticking. The pull, pull, pull, of the covers, and the toss, turn, sigh of a sleepless spouse are another story.
I do feel a disconnect from those younger than myself, and perplexed by an apparent lack of work ethic and a heated sense of entitlement. I don't seem to connect to music on MTV or the radio as I once did.
I do feel that opportunity is passing and that I need to develop a more stringent plan for my life and use of my talents. I think that the fear of death, failure, complacency, and futility is palpable.
1 comment:
Mmm, yes. You also know you're old when you still think you are unbearably cool and hip and all the 18 to 23 year olds you're taking college classes with just think you're weird.
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