The moment we’re born, the mortal clock begins to tick and each second that passes is one instant closer to the end. Barring sudden illness or misfortune, we all grow up, grow old and die. That is the circle of life, no matter how much we may wish otherwise.
The end bit is often ignored until it happens. It’s like if we don’t think or talk about death, perhaps it won’t come. Instead, we focus on the aging, as though that is something under our control. This is particularly true when it comes to appearance.
You know you’re getting old when…
* Your first gray hair appears
* Bouncers at bars no longer check your driver’s license
* Your skin feels less supple
* A clerk at the supermarket calls you “ma’am”
* Your hair starts to thin
* Flirting opportunities seem to have vanished
* Wait, is that a wrinkle?
Some people are unaffected by these changes. Oh, they notice, but they aren’t really bothered by them. A few folks embrace these fading alterations. But many start to feel invisible when they get older. There’s a reason the global market for anti-aging products is estimated at $38.9 billion (2022) annually — and that number is expected to climb to $60 billion by 2030. Simply avoid the appearance of aging and it won’t become a reality. Or maybe the reaper will reschedule your appointment to a different someday.
Another way people try to cheat death? Ignore the changes in their body’s capabilities.
How you know the body has started to decline:
* Do you wake up in the middle of the night to pee?
* Are your joints able to predict the weather?
* You’ve said, “At my age, I’m done with… (ENTER SPORT HERE)”
* You feel pains in weird places
* What sex drive?
* Why am I suddenly so hot? And now cold? And now hot again?
* Surely this brain fog is due to that one time I had covid
People can adjust to these changes by trying less physically-strenuous hobbies. They can make their twilight years easier by adapting their environment. Or, they can tumble down the “midlife crisis” path by purchasing expensive toys, having affairs, dating younger people, experimenting with risky behavior — anything to feel like they’re reliving their past or extending their youth.
I complain about my aging appearance and I certainly notice the change in my abilities. Yet, my nemesis isn’t death. It’s Time. I know death is coming and I’m doing what I can to make the most of every day, no matter what age. But, Time keeps sending these annoying reminders that someday I’ll be pushin’ daisies.
Time’s favorite hobby is nostalgia:
* “They sure don’t make things like they use to. Why, I just picked up these shoes last year and already they’re falling apart. I bought this T-shirt at a concert back in the ’90s and it’s still wearable.”
* “Have you watched ‘Stranger Things’? The filmmakers really managed to capture what it was like being a kid in the ’80s.”
* “Today’s music just doesn’t move me. But when I want to listen to ‘good’ music, I have to turn on the ‘oldies’ station.”
* “That book is so good! I read it when it first came out, um… in the twentieth century.”
Time thrives on milestones. For example, I’ve been with M for nearly 18 years. Where has the time gone? It’s just flown by. I’ve maintained certain friendships for decades and with each passing year, I wonder how many more will we have?
But what really gets me is the knowledge that Time is so limited. Someday, I won’t be able to do certain things anymore, not necessarily because I’m infirm or unable, but because my life will end.
A few years ago, I looked into getting a turtle for a pet. In researching this idea, I learned that many varieties of turtles live 50 years or more. So, being the practical sort, I tossed that plan out the window.
More recently, I read that a total solar eclipse will be visible in my state on April 8. According to the experts, the skies will fully darken at 2:28 p.m. Although I want to see it, 2:28 p.m. is basically 2:28 a.m. in my world. I will likely be fast asleep.
I had nearly decided to skip it when I heard the date of the next total solar eclipse that’ll be viewable from my locale: May 1, 2079. By then, my hourglass will surely be out of sand.
I suppose I’ll just have to sacrifice a little sleep in order to see this one.
