I’m the Oldest I’ve Ever Been

And I’m Fine With It

Right now, as I type this, I am the oldest I have ever been. With every heartbeat I set a personal record for the length of my life. And, according to all that is known about the life span of the average human male, I am much closer to the end of that life than the beginning. I do not mean to be morbid, I’m simply stating a fact. I am no spring chicken. I hope to continue getting older for the foreseeable future, while retaining my health and as many of my marbles as I can.

Dealing with various aches and pains seems like a way of life for folks in my age group. And, boy, do we like to talk about it! Who hasn’t had the experience of listening to an oldster, droning on and on, often in graphic detail, about aches and pains that never seem to end?

For me, it is arthritis, especially in my hands. (Curiously, it is not painful to type, which is a lucky break for the fans of The Storm. By Norm. 😊) Opening a jar of pickles or a bottle of Gatorade can be quite painful. Even signing my name is enough to make me wince.

And, I have become aware of how much groaning I do. Getting out of bed, getting in and out of a car, struggling to rise from an extended time in my La-Z-Boy, are all groan-causing actions. But, what actual purpose does groaning serve? None whatsoever. It seems pointless. I’ve begun to annoy myself with all the groaning, so I am trying to be more self-aware of this habit. I don’t want to be a groaner.

Perhaps I should try to limit my whining about the vagaries of aging, to conversations with those in my own age group. I could consider it my contribution to the betterment of society. Okay, that sounds like a worthy goal. I’m going to do it. After this post, of course.

Old man as art.

Many folks my age have felt the frustration of learning new technology that is so easy for the youngers. Nothing seems intuitive and nothing seems to work correctly right out of the box. I often think, “Well, they obviously designed this product with a less ancient consumer in mind.” I feel proud when I figure out how to do something useful on my MacBook or my phone. It’s important to celebrate the little victories in life.

It has been said that with age comes wisdom. Having made the transitions from young to middle aged to old, I don’t know if I feel any wiser. I mean, in some ways, I can say I have learned from my experiences, I guess. But, once in a while, I say or do the same stupid things that I did when I was younger. Is it because I forgot what experience has taught me, or is it because I am just not very bright? These days it’s hard to say.

I have noticed a decline in my overall mental acuity. My short term memory, especially, is not what it once was. Not only that, I have noticed that I occasionally repeat myself. Also, I have noticed that I occasionally repeat myself.

Old man as art II.

I have made a momentous decision that I hope will help me enjoy whatever decades I have left. (Apparently, I am an optimist.) I’m not going to waste my energy worrying about appearing old to the world. I’m just not. I am going to accept myself for whatever age I am.

Most old people who say they don’t care what others think are not being truthful. The majority of us care about being presentable when we go out. We shower and run a brush through our hair, some of us dab on a little makeup. We try to look less old to the rest of the world, hoping to avoid being shunned, ridiculed, or dismissed by a society that does not value its elders. Many of us feel judged for being old. Many of us judge ourselves for being old.

Well, I’m not going to do that anymore. I refuse to cede the power of how I feel about myself to anyone else. Oh, sure, I still will try to be “presentable”, for my own self-respect, and for the people in my life about whom I care.

But, I will not apologize for, or be afraid of, looking my age.

When I peer into the mirror, it is not easy to see an old geezer staring back. I see wrinkles where there did not used to be wrinkles. I see the beginning of jowls and a turkey neck where there used to be a straight jawline and smooth skin. I’m beginning to see that sagging, crepey (crepey, not creepy) old man skin in various places. But, so what?

My neck does not really look like this. Yet.

Given the sum total of my life experiences, I have earned every damn one of those wrinkles. I have earned each gray hair. There are plenty of things about which I should feel shame and embarrassment. Looking my age is not going to be one of them.

Do I miss my youthful self? Well, yes. However, those days are long gone. That does not mean I have to hide myself from the rest of society because I am old. The hell with that. Certainly, I cannot do many of the things a younger person can do. But, guess what? I ain’t dead yet. I’m still capable of participating in life, and I will do so, as I am able and as I see fit. I am not afraid of being my age, but I do not have to act my age, whatever that means.

On the express train to Geezertown.

Yes, there are actions I could take to appear more youthful. I could soak my hair in Grecian Formula. I could botox this, and plastic surgery that. Many folks choose that route, and who am I to say they’re wrong? People have the right to make their own choices. (At least, in some states.)

But, for me, what would be the point? Who would I be fooling? Nothing I do will change the date on my birth certificate. I’m still going to be however old I am. What’s wrong with being who I am?

Not a thing. Not a damn thing.

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