Getting There

One month from now, I will be 46 years old. I have not really thought about my age until now. Funny but the cliché “I stopped counting at 30!” has some truth in it. Much as I want to ignore it, age has indeed caught up with me. I used to be thin (Yes, Virginia, I was slim before!) but not lanky. Going up and down the stairs was never a problem with me. I can also touch my toes with my fingers without necessarily bending my legs. It’s a different story now. The nineteen-step stairs in the house is a killer especially when my joints ache (read: arthritis). I can still touch my toes with my fingers – this time, sitting down. I used to enjoy a night out binge drinking – now, I prefer two shots of red wine instead. I used to eat pork humba with gusto but now I worry about my blood pressure shooting up. Traveling used to be an exciting activity – now, I consider it a pain in the butt. I’m getting there, guys. But age somehow has its perks. One becomes more learned – more mature. Your grasp of things becomes focused and your views are now tempered. The plus sides are great – you rub elbows with people that were your parent’s peers and depending on your astuteness, your opinion is now being sought. I’m getting there and my strategy is to get there in one piece, with my dignity and self-respect intact. I may be getting old but what the heck; I’ve enjoyed every bit of it. So the secret of success is to age gracefully. That way, you don’t even have to worry about wrinkles.  Enough said.

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