There is something exciting about passing under a bridge or through a tunnel. It is as if you are passing from one part of life into another. You don’t feel it? I’m sorry for you.
I must be feeling my mortality lately, because I find that I’ve been ruminating on aging in the early morning hours. It doesn’t happen every day, but often enough lately that I notice it. Here are a few of the things that I’ve recently thought.
I know I’m growing older when I look in the mirror after my morning shower. I see how thin my wet white hair is becoming. I can see scalp where I never noticed it before. For some reason this always startles me. It doesn’t sadden me, but I do wonder when this phenomenon started.
Either I’m becoming more cranky or I just notice it more in myself. Perhaps with age or maturity you become more aware of your shortcomings. You see your former self in the shortcomings of others, and you become more tolerant. Except you get more cranky. Well, I guess this point needs some more thought. For now let’s just say that I have cranky days and less cranky days.
I used to look at pretty women and feel lust. Now I look at pretty women and wonder if they have an interesting mind. When they do, and they are willing to be a friend, it is like hitting the lottery. The odds are better with a pretty woman because most people have interesting minds below all of the surface crap. Digging through the crap is the hardest part, and I’m not often willing to do that hard work.
A couple of months ago I was n a big box store to buy a pair of blue jeans. As I was walking through the men’s clothing section I noticed a stack of T-shirts and stopped to look them over. There I found a Captain America T-shirt that caught my fancy. I started to go through the pile of shirts, looking for my size. And then my mind said to me, “What are you doing? You passed the age of 65 a couple of years ago. Act your age!” So I moved on. I did, however, buy a plain lime-green (the color expresses my still smoldering rebellious streak) t-shirt with a breast pocket. I used to dislike t-shirts with breast pockets, but now seek them out. I insert my MP3 player n he pocket on my old-man morning walk. At least I don’t use a hiking stick and wear an Australian bush hat.