7 Signs I’m Getting Old

Charting Course ^ | 12/12/14 | Steve Berman

[lifeofgrace]

I recently marked a particular anniversary of my birth.  I won’t say my age but it’s a prime number multiplied by ten, older than 30 and not yet 70.  I didn’t mark the day in any particular way.  Yeah there was a “happy birthday” from my wife and kids, but no huge celebration.   I didn’t want one.

Passing that milestone makes one somewhat introspective and brooding about the arc of one’s life.  I was just twenty, for God’s sake!  What happened to all those years?  I still feel like a big kid.  I still watch Looney Tunes (love Road Runner) with the kids.  I still love to play board games.  I like the same stuff I liked growing up.

Who am I kidding.  I’m getting older.  Not quite “old”.  Just older.  I’ll let you know when it turns into “old”.

Here’s seven signs I’ve unearthed like an archaeologist in search of ancient ruins.  They are the hieroglyphs of my life aging into the dustbin of history.  These are things I used to laugh at when old people did them, or I’d simply observe with amusement and horror how the geezers did things.  And here, I’ve dug them out of my own life to share with you.

I don’t celebrate my birthdays anymore

I have no desire to dwell on the fact that I’m one year further from the date of my entry into this world, and one day closer to my exit therefrom.  There is some truth to the old saw that “the years go by faster” when you get older.  I am fairly sure that time itself doesn’t change (although special relativity might kick in), but our perception engine samples less, like a movie skipping every third frame.

Whole reels tend to drop out and go missing.  Okay, younger people:  a “reel” is something they used to use to project movies when they used actual film.  Geez, am I really giving a lesson in film projector history?  What was I even talking about?  Right.  Missing chunks of life in my inner-movie-making gear.  It’s true.  I can go from 9am to noon without a single memorable moment and it’s like those three hours never happened.  By the end of the day, it’s like I lived three hours.  (Did we feed the dog?  What was for dinner?)  Then it’s time for bed, then the next day is a replay of the last one.

Whole weeks go by before I even realize that Monday is over.  I mean, dang, it’s Friday already?  It was just Sunday!  Really, it was.

I go into a room and forget why

I used to laugh at my parents doing this.  I’d count the number of times they went into the kitchen, got distracted, stood blank faced for a minute, then left, only to return thirty seconds later.  I would actively try to distract them to count how many trips they’d have to make to remember the original reason they went into the kitchen.

Yes, I was a little angel.

Now, I go into the kitchen, get distracted and forget what I went there for, while my kids look on in amusement.  The only positive to this is that I don’t bother counting how many trips I take, probably because I forget anyway.

I have to wear — gasp! — reading glasses

Sometimes.

Not often.

Not when anyone’s looking.

If I can get away with using 18-point fonts, I’ll do that too.  But man, the print on those drug bottles, and the nutrition information on food packages is so freaking small these days, it’s like you need a magnifying glass to read it.  Thank God I have my phone camera to zoom in on things.  Why don’t they print things bigger like they used to?

Or maybe my eyes aren’t 20/10 and 20/15 like they used to be.  I don’t get them checked because it scares me to know the actual numbers.  If I can’t read it, it’s probably not important anyway, right?

I take medicine and stuff

Used to be, I would never, ever take a pill, unless my head was about to split open or I just had surgery.  No pain pills for this hombre.  Prescriptions?  Ha, who needs them.  Those mama’s boys who have to take vitamins and antibiotics, what a bunch of wimps.  And what the heck is gout?  Sounds like something they got in the 1700’s from being on a wooden ship too long and eating maggots.

Now, I take seven pills every day.  Every.  Single.  Day.  Three of them are prescriptions (yes, one for gout, which I wouldn’t wish on the devil himself), and four of them are some kind of vitamins or supplements—with one big amber capsule full of fish oil that’s supposed to be good for my heart or something.  When I travel, I have to take a whole pharmacy with me.  Here’s my hombre card, I’m turning it in.  At least I still have my teeth.

I traded in my race car for a sedan

When I was young, I loved fast cars.  But I could never afford one (not a really fast one at least, which was in hindsight a blessing, since I wouldn’t have lived this long if I had).  Then I went through the thing they call a “midlife crisis” where I had both the money and the desire for a fast car.  The first one was a Mustang GT convertible, which converted money into speeding tickets.  I didn’t keep it long enough to bankrupt me but it helped me get into the SUV stage of life.

Then the need for speed hit again (somewhere in my 40’s) and I got a Subaru Impreza STI, which eats Mustang GT’s for lunch.  The hatchback version of this AWD ricochet rocket rally car is also stealthy enough that the po-po don’t look for it.  And it goes 90 miles an hour—on dirt (on pavement, the speedometer outpaced my courage tank and therefore I never got far into the triple-digits).  Well, I sold it for a Subaru Legacy.  The only similarity between the STI and the Legacy is the logo.  The rest screams “Buick” (but at least it’s still an AWD car).  Hey, it’s a lot cheaper on gas and tons more practical, and my wife can drive it too.

It was the sensible thing to do.

I’m just lying to myself here.  The truth is, I’m becoming a fogey.

I listen to classical music

This is a new one.  I mean new as in just in the past few days new.  I suddenly had this desire to listen to symphony music while driving my car.  To and from work, and around town, yep, I’m tuned to the Symphony Hall channel on SXM satellite.

I have no idea what’s playing:  Rachmaninov or Mozart or whoever, but the music is strangely soothing to my impatient bones when some old fart is driving 20 mph in front of me looking for their doctor’s office.  I remember my father always liking classical, symphony music.  He played violin (at the professional level) for years before I was born.  I play the radio, and that’s it.  Even my son can identify the instruments being played—there’s a violin, there’s a piano.  I’m about as musical as a rusty hinge.

But I know I’m aging well because I listen to classical music now.  One day I might even be distinguished enough not to burp in public, but that’s a stretch.

I never sleep in

I used to be able to sleep.  I mean sleep like a professional.  10am?  That’s nothing.  Noon?  Hit snooze.  Stay up all night?  No problem.

Now I wake up every two to three hours.  The clock reads 4:30am and I know it’s not long before I actually get out of bed.  Sleeping in is 7:30.  If I sleep past 8, I must be sick.  I’m not so ancient that I have to make multiple bathroom trips each night—not yet at least.  However I did find it’s true that young men and older men both pee the same each day, just that young men do it all at once, while older men spread it out all day.

As for staying up late, I don’t do too well past 11pm anymore.  Actually, 11pm is a time I rarely see since I’m generally sleeping by 10:30.  Getting older consumes a lot of energy, you know, and I get tired.  Reminds me of a Rolling Stones song:  it’s a drag (my little yellow pill isn’t Mother’s Little Helper, it’s a B12 supplement).

Still lot to look forward to

I know there are nuances to being old, especially when you hit the retirement age:  eating breakfast at McDonalds at 6am, lunch at 11am, and dinner at 4pm, then bed by 9 hasn’t happened to me yet.  I don’t wear my pants pulled up to my chest, mostly because I still have a tuchas.  I hear that it migrates when you get really old and moves into the abdomen to merge with your chest, which makes wearing pants that way perfectly sensible.

I am looking forward to aging well.  Like I said, I still have my teeth and I still have my hair.  My 95-year old father still has his hair too, and it’s not even white—it’s salt & pepper.  So I have good genes and can look forward to graciously descending into decrepitude well into my 90’s.

I asked my sons if they would take care of me and their mom when we got old, and they both hugged us and told us they would.  Maybe I’ll start celebrating my birthdays again, and my present will be reminding them of their promise.  I will really enjoy my retirement one day—and my wife and I will just show up at their house with a car full of our stuff, saying “we just need a place for a little while” as we move in.

We’ll enjoy their hospitality, not replace the toilet paper rolls, eat their fridge empty, and leave dirty laundry on the floor.  It’s not because we don’t want to clean up, but we’ll have forgotten what we went into the room for in the first place.  And when they go into the kitchen for the twelfth time and get distracted, we’ll look on in amusement with our grandkids.

I can’t wait (well, actually, I can wait, oh please don’t let me get old).

(image credit: Shutterstock)

[envisio]

Being poor kept me away from the drugs when I was young.

[Redcitizen]

Have a heartfelt happy birthday from me and a big hug. Just because. :)

[ctdonath2]

“Now I wake up every two to three hours.”

I blame that on years of being forced to by kids & dogs & wife, the 5 of which only need stir enough to get my attention _once_each_ to fracture my night into 6 separate sleeping periods of little more than an hour each. And that’s on a _good_ night. Never mind that I start the process by going to bed too late just because that’s the only hour or so this introvert can be alone without interruption. Then m’lady wakes around 5 to start getting ready for work, a process not conducive to a sleeping introvert.

Upshot is I’ve pretty much given up on “sleep”, and don’t expect to experience a straight 8 hours thereof for years to come, if ever again.

[Prov1322]

I just turned the 1.618 extension of my 38th birthday...

A little Fibonacci humor...

[Hot Tabasco]

Check the freezer.

Well whadda ya know, I found my hammer......thanks.

[terycarl]

I turned 50 last month. My wife attempted to make a big deal of it until I reminded her that no matter how old I get she will always be older. Cold icy stare followed.

you're not even done maturing yet...Our 52 year old son and his nearly that old wife just gave birth to our 6th AND 7th grandchildren...all the others are late teens but the new twins ...boy and girl are his first. It would be impossible for more joy to have come into our lives (we are WELL into our 70's!!!)

[outofsalt]

I guess we have a consensus!

[lifeofgrace]

When I go to an unfamiliar store looking for diapers for my youngest and have to ask where they are I have to be sure to specify children's diapers.

HA HA HA! Funny. Thank God my kids are out of diapers. Nobody ever asked me that question though. I do draw the line at feminine products. If I can't find it within 30 seconds of entering the aisle, I have to leave because my self-conscious-meter expires.

[lifeofgrace]

I’ve driven by that home. Very nice. So far out of my league that the groundskeeper’s house is beyond my means.

[ican'tbelieveit]

I bought my first Buick (used) in my mid 30s. And looking back, I wish I would have gotten into them many years before. Just bought my second Buick (used, but much “newer”) and love driving it every day. They move, but oh so comfortably. Compared to my son’s brand new Mazda, drove it off of the lot with only 18 miles on it, the Buick is a dream ride.

Buick’s are wasted on the retired.

[Night Hides Not]

I'm a real rebel in today's world...no tattoos.

Celebrated my 60th birthday earlier this year with a 15 mile hike. Planning on hiking the Narrows at Zion NP this summer.

[CodeJockey]

It now takes me all night to do what I once could do all night.

[MomwithHope]

I got a chuckle out of reading this, as I am a bit over the hill myself and have a birthday coming up in 10 days. With both of my parents gone I don’t feel like celebrating birthdays anymore. Physically I’m in pretty good shape but I can relate to some of the things on the list. Just trying to make the best use of the time I have.

[BunnySlippers]

“My neighborhood” as in Los Feliz”. I wish I lived in a home like that.

He bought it over $5 mil and has listed it at $6.8 mil so he has done something right.

The house he has bought to replace it is also in Los Feliz around $2.8, so where is the money going?

[West Texas Chuck]

“I now look at young people that want to be trendy, and are slaves to pop culture, as being complete wastes of space, instead of just being goofy.”

Ditto.

[Doomonyou]

Good stuff.