Getting Old

I discovered one of those tiny truths in life this morning. As I rolled out of bed the first thing I registered was soreness from doing more than I should have yesterday. Going through the machinations of getting ready for the day I continued to catalogue the various aches and whatnot. Today’s issues were less about overuse and more a small reckoning with years of mild abuse. The little truth was this: Getting older means it gets tougher to lie to yourself. Not as small a thing as it may seem. There are little bouts of delusion that aren’t necessarily evil, just a little mental cover. But at some point you come face to face with it and make a decision. I think fully accepting it is almost a form of sobriety: You acknowledge there is a thing you are powerless over. And much like sobriety you always have to work at it. You can’t just waive at the idea and move on. It’s going to keep challenging you.

Because if you don’t do this properly you end up like my boss, a guy in middle age that is engaged in a constant campaign of euphoric recall while hurtling towards his demise. The longer it goes on the more elaborate the mental dance becomes, and the final reckoning is probably going to splatter you on some mental pavement somewhere. My point isn’t to dropkick my boss but to thank him in a backhanded way. Even the ass***** in your life have something to offer. Usually they’re a human sign that says “Don’t go there!”

Ares