Wrinkles in Time
The first time I realized that I was aging, I was at an outdoor concert. I was sitting in a chair, listening to a jazz band, drinking a beer. All of the sudden, I noticed that the skin of the girl who was sitting in front of me looked different from what I was used to seeing in the mirror. Her skin had that shiny elasticity associated with youth that I took for granted and never noticed until it was gone, never noticed until that moment. That was a turning point for me because for the first time, I realized that I was no longer particularly young. I was 35 at the time.
I recently turned 37 and the whole issue of aging and growing older has taken on an unfamiliar significance. I no longer get carded to see R-rated movies or to buy a 6-pack of beer; the local oldies radio station plays the songs of “my generation;” I’m getting wrinkles; my hair is turning gray; and injuries that I used to be able to shake off take a couple of days to heal. More significantly, for the first time in my life, I understand that I don’t have forever to reach my goals. Life is finite, and I have so much that I want to do and so many things that I want to accomplish that I feel overwhelmed. And of course I find myself looking backwards, wondering what the hell I was thinking when I wasted all that time. I feel like I spent the first 18 years of my life ducking punches and dreaming about running away, and the next 18 years running from the pain of the first 18 years. And now, at 37, tired of running and wounds mostly intact, I feel like I’m starting over.
Yikes! I am starting over! And this time, I realize that I am the captain of my own destiny. I am excited about the possibilities and terrified of the responsibility. When I focus on what I can do, I feel charged. I imagine myself living a life that I love and my fear of mortality shrinks into the background. In these dreams, I am completely alive.
But, perhaps because I can hear the clock ticking in my head, I am well aware of the risks. This time, I have to pay for the journey myself. There’s no one out there to buy my gas for me, no stipends, no fellowships, no umbilical cord to my parents’ bank about. If this venture goes bust, I’m the one that goes bankrupt.
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