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It didn’t happen when I turned 18.

It didn’t happen when I turned 21.

It wasn’t when I reached age 30, or even 40.

Nope. It happened this week. This very week, leading up to my actual birthday, today.

I feel old.

No, not old as in elderly. I realize I’m not 80 or 70. I’m not too far away from 50 any more, but I know 70-year-olds who I don’t consider to be elderly. Heck, some of them I don’t even think of as old. But today, at age 44, I feel old.

It’s been during the past year that I’ve become acutely aware my body doesn’t like to do the things it used to do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be up and about and I will never take that for granted. It’s just easy to be a little cynical about age when you wake up in the morning and your back wants you to stay put.

And then there’s the fact that I ordered progressive eyeglasses last week which could possibly be ready for me to pick up today (otherwise maybe Sunday). Ironic that my birthday was scheduled as the first day of the range they’d be ready. I’m the last of my immediate family to need them, but I do finally need them. My wife seemed amused that I appeared to be excited about getting glasses. I responded that I’m not excited to be getting glasses—I’m just excited that I’ll be able to see clearly again!

This post isn’t a lamentation or a complaint. Only a musing. It’s not intended to make light of the wisdom and seniority of those who are a few decades older than I am. Only the realization that I feel I’ve joined the ranks of those who might be heard telling the neighbor kids, “GET OFF MY LAWN!”

Nah, seriously, I’m good. Happy to have life, friends, family, a home, a job, and every one of you who bothers to read what I post online.

Oh, more irony: how appropriate for the xkcd comic to release this strip today (click the graphic to embiggen):

xkcd: Timeghost

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