So, I’m old. I realized that when I was sitting in the classroom and recognized how disconnected from the students I am. They find it giggle worthy that the old dude knows slang. I’m him–that old guy who doesn’t know he’s old. Except now I’m that old guy who doesn’t quite care.
There were other signifiers. The inability to sleep, the blurry eyes in the morning, getting tired merely trotting up the stairs. The act of moving up the stairs makes me feel old in of itself. I can feel my knees cratering on impact and my mind wanders to five years down the line when I will be, as one of my 5 boys suggests, ‘decrepit’.
I’m not doing anything about it. I’m supposed to, but I am in a moment of resignation. I’ve been turning towards the grim acceptance of my eventual demise and recognizing that time can be counted in decades. On one hand. As long as I have been in the world may not be much shorter than as long as I will be in the world, and that is me feeling gratitude and hopefulness for a long long second half. Yet I recognize that in order for that to come to pass I need to do things on my end. I need to put in the work in order to live and I have yet to really accept the work of doing that.
Lazy gets people killed. I just never realized that I’m people too.