It finally happened.
At approximately 4:36 AM, September 25, 2019, I entered old age.
Because at that time, I woke up without an alarm, tossed and turned for a few minutes, then got up because I could not get back to sleep. I am officially old.
It took a while to process. In my head, I’ve been an old man since I was ten, so I’m not really bothered by it. I also think our ageist society has to stop using terms like ‘old man’ in a derogatory way. My celebration of shifting into the second half of my life begins now, and I intend to make it just as crazy and fun as the first – if not more-so. (Second acts are supposed to be better, according to some.) And if it means I’m going to be up with a few hours to populate, you may be getting more posts with more content (witness the heft of that ‘Confessions of a State Worker‘ series – not saying it was supremely exciting, but it was well-documented!)
As for this particular morning, the world is cloistered in darkness. A bouquet of Northern sea oats sits upright, intentionally drying and arching its elegant stems. Another bouquet of roses sits wilted, unintentionally drying because I’ve been too lazy to throw it out. Two small vases, each filled with a faded fern, are further evidence of neglect. These are things I never would have revealed during the light of day. It’s easy to be confessional at this early hour. Maybe that is the path this blog will begin to take. It’s not all fun and games. It’s not all prettiness and perfection, I can more than vouch for a multitude of mistakes. Too often I try to paint things as pretty when the reality is a little less lovely.
Even so, there is beauty here too. Faded roses aren’t unpretty.
They’re just a little older.
