I am fifty-five years old today. Getting older requires so little of a person, but exacts its toll in small ways, until you look at yourself one day and realize that you are a completely different being. Greater and lesser at the same time. I don’t hold much in the idea that age brings wisdom, because I still make the same stupid mistakes over and over again, but I do think that age removes you bit by bit from the trivialities of the world and forces you to see fewer details and more patterns. Nothing is new except the thin surface of life, but as you lift above it, your grasp becomes more and more tenuous.
When I first started to realize that I had crossed the event threshold of irrelevance, I struggled mightily to stay. I still don’t think I have reached the point of acceptance. At best, I’d say, it’s a recognition of the inevitability of the advance. Now and again I am still pulled up short with surprise when I am confronted by some evidence of my changed status, but there’s less resistance on my part. Now, there is more apprehension and fear of what is to come than there is trying to hold on to what has past.