Permanent State of Denial

Wednesday, September 2nd came and went a few days ago, without much fuss or fanfare. Just another entirely forgettable weekday, right smack in the middle of an equally forgettable work week. It was noteworthy only to me, as it marked the anniversary of my grand entrance into the world, my 36th trip around the sun. From my vantage point, I can throw a rock to 40. From 40, it's a reasonably short walk in my comfort waist Dockers, braided leather belt, and golf shirt to age 50. Once I have arrived at 50, I will be so preoccupied with lawn care, keeping the garage organized, and monitering my prostate health, that I will have scarcely noticed that an entire decade has passed, and am now on the doorstep of 60. I am certain I will spend the remainder of my 'golden years' driving to buffet's at 3pm with my blinker on the whole way, complaining that there hasn't been anything good on television since "30 Rock", and inexplicably incorporating words like 'revelrouser' into my daily vocabulary.

Dismiss it as a comical exaggeration if you will, but if the last ten years are any indication as to how fast the present can become our distant past, then, I am uncomfortably close to owning a Buick Le Sabre, and becoming the target audience for Depends commercials.

It's funny though, how our minds seem to lag decades behind our bodies in the aging process, ignoring the ever increasing stiffness, joint pain, and diminishing athletic skills, as if operating in some sort of permanent state of denial. We are not blind to the physical deterioration of others- athtletes, celebrities, even our peers. We might even derive a measure of enjoyment out of bantering over the reverse metamorphosis taking place for others. But somehow, our minds convince us that it's everyone else that's getting old, we however, are still in our prime.

I have yet to determine if this is solid proof that we were purposefully designed to live on indefinitely, or if it's simply a cruel byproduct of imperfection, that our bodies often give out long before our minds are willing to concede that inescapable reality.

Either way, I've decided to accept my station in life, and wear my age like a badge of honor. After all, I've seen my high school yearbook picture, and frankly, I am not the least bit interested in firing up the 'flux capacitor', and getting the DeLorean up to 88mph to relive the glory days. Because the truth is, for the vast majority of us who weren't All State quarterbacks, and varsity cheerleaders, there weren't any glory days. Sure, I had a kick ass poster of a Lamborghini Countach on the wall, and a major crush on a girl named Susan Sholly, but, guess what? I drove a 3 cylinder Geo Metro, and Susan Sholly ended up pregnant 3 years after high school. That's certainly not worth revisiting. Anybody want to trade in their copy of 'Anchorman' on BlueRay, for some old episodes of 'The facts of life', or 'Fall Guy' on Betamax? I certainly don't. And yes, I probably start alot of conversations now with the phrase-" I remember when..." but, damnit, reminiscing is fun, and a great way to keep dinner conversation lively, and avoid awkward silences. I am happily married now, but if I were to ever end up single again due to, say, an unfortunate hiking accident, or unexplained electrical fire, I think I have alot more game now than I ever did at 21. I couldn't close the deal with Susan Sholly in High school, but you'd better believe If she took one look at my sculpted physique now, and were exposed to the full force of my arsenal of sensuality and seduction, she would be powerless to resist. Or, perhaps I am still in denial.