I am Getting Old(er)

I am Getting Old(er)

Volume 8 Issue 79

Yes. I am again griping about getting old. This is another one of my verbose entries where I go yatta-yatta about getting old, so if you've already read the last dozen entries about this topic, you can just close your eyes and scroll a bit down or something. Or come back tomorrow, because today I'm whiny.

I am getting old. Getting older, at least. I have the fact that I won't be young forever, even though it's not exactly like I'm going out and relishing my awesome youth. I can hardly stay up past midnight, and when I do, I'm practically a zombie the next morning. I'm 23. In about two weeks, I will be 24. So you understand my dire urgency to address the issue of aging (sarcastic and yet truthful).

I am aging. Not as rapidly as Moor (from The Moor's Last Sigh -- yes, I am still reading that!), who is aging twice as fast as everyone else, but nevertheless, too rapidly for my liking. I should still be 19. I should still be "about to turn 20." How did the last four years zoom by? I just blinked, it seems, and half a decade flashed. I'm not ready to enter my "mid-twenties"; not yet, not yet!

Some of my peers are settling into their career-jobs, or finishing up graduate school, or starting a family; they are done, through with stretching and flexing and training and are ready to start running. I'm still deciding whether I want to do a marathon or the 100 m sprint. It feels like, the Olympic Games are here and I can't sign up for a category (I know it's not something as simple as "signing up" -- it's not a softball team) because I haven't done the rigorous training. So enough analogy.

I think I would still feel somewhat ambivalent about aging, had I been a permanent resident/US citizen, had I gone to Berkeley, had I gotten a B.S. or B.A. or M.A. or what acronym have you, because it's really not about my accomplishments. I'm proud of who I am and how I'm liviing. It's not ideal, true, but given my circumstance, I have prevailed with exceptional outcomes. I work 50-hour-weeks to pay tuition and support myself -- I work hard to get an education and I study hard also. I have proven to the world, and above all, myself, that when push comes to shove, I can still handle it. I'm flexible and dilligent, and a bit smart too.

So why would I still feel anguish over aging? Because I don't know the meaning of life. It's kind of demanding on myself to comprehend such things when I've only lived about a quarter of my life, but I'm not one for much meandering. I need to set a direction and a goal. Not to lose 3.7 lbs by next month, or finishing One Hundred Years of Solitude by the end of the century. Something influential. Something motivational. Something I'm willing to spend my life doing. It doesn't even have to be a one thing. But having a basic outline, or something to that extent would make me feel slightly better about aging.

What is the meaning of life? Why am I here? Sometimes, I feel like I'm so close to an answer, an enlightenment, if you will, but then my train of thought halts for one reason or another (damn customers, interfering with my chance at nirvana!). It takes a long time, and I'll have to invest more time thinking about it, I guess. But so much time is wasted in the present worrying about the future. I want to stop time for just a moment -- not even a very long one, where I can just think. Meditate. Debate within myself. Without the restrictions of time, being so oppressive on my soul.

Great. Now I got that Cher song in my head... "...if I could turn back time..." Unfortunately, when that is the only line from the song you know, and you're not even sure of the rest of the tune, it keeps repeating in your head, over and over, just that line, like a broken record. I'm in for a great day, I can just tell! (Note: extreme sarcasm)