This is something that’s pretty near and dear to me, actually.
For starters, I’m 52. Debate rages on whether that’s considered ‘old’, or ‘middle-aged’, or ‘walking dead’.
The problem, is relevancy. Many things I used to enjoy doing, are firmly in the world of the young. And growing up sucks.
One of my favorite childhood memories, was bike riding, but a different sort. My parents would haul 10-year-old me, and my bike, up to the top of a nearby mountain pass, and then discharge me and my bike, to coast down the 7% grade for 10 miles. What’s more fun to a kid, right? I didn’t have a helmet, knee pads, cell phone, or any of that.
And it forced me to think a little bit, and I’m stronger for it. What would have happened, had I wiped out? First order of business – get the hell out of the road, then sit there and go ‘ouch’. I got blasted on Twitter for talking about this, people telling me my parents were negligent for allowing me to do this, etc. But guess what? I survived.
Of course, were I to try this nowadays, not sure how it’d turn out.
It’s no secret among my real-life friends, and those who follow me on Twitter, that I like colorful, sparkly stuff. I have a blue beard, and right now my fingernails are painted red with sparkles. And people are free to attach whatever stereotype they want to it. Yeah, I’m a gay guy, but thats not what the colors are about. I was in a colorless place for many years, and now I’m making up for lost time.
But when you walk down the street, you generally don’t see 52-year-olds sporting sparkles. It’s the twenty-somethings, or the something-teens. So I get a little conflicted, wondering if I look nice, or some pathetic old fart trying to recapture his lost youth.
So you can sum the whole thing up, with ‘I’m too old for …’ and fill it in with *.*.
That’s how I feel most days. Too old for pretty much everything.