A realization: as I bend down to tie my shoes, I ever so subtly bend my knee outward, thereby making the distance between my hands and my shoe a bit shorter. It seems I’ve had a stiff lower back for a few days, and I’m not sure why. Sleeping badly, I suppose. But because my back bothers me, I don’t want to bend way over to tie my shoes. As I lift myself I realize: I am getting older.
I realize that approximately a hundred times a day. It terrifies me. I hate it. I am in my thirties, and I feel like I’m ninety-eight. Not physically. Just in general. I want to be twenty-seven forever and ever. And I’m not, so it bothers me. Then something occurred to me. I am only two seconds old.
I was a baby thirty years ago. The baby is the old person. I don’t think I carry any of that life with me. I can’t remember being spoon-fed cinnamon apples and learning my ABC’s. I can not relate to that person at all. And every year, that “entity” gets older.
But I’ve only been my current age for a month. This new person surprises me every day. It seems to me that I am younger now than I was back then because I’ve only been the Me I recognize for a few years. I am this age now – recently – and I was a baby three decades ago.
I suppose I am saying maybe age isn’t cumulative. Maybe it’s more an attitude, being aware that you’ve only been the person you are for a second, a minute, or whatever length of time you’d care to measure.