Words Like Locusts Flew From Her Fingers

Getting Old

I got this email from a friend today and, while I care very much for my friend, this kind of email drives me nuts. I’ve always wanted to reply with what I really think of these sorts of emails and today I’m finally going to.

The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old . I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old.

Yeah, senility will do that to a person

Upon seeing my reaction, he was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let him know.

No doubt, he waited in trembling anticipation for your answer. You know what? I don’t believe anyone asked this boring old windbag how he felt about getting old. I think the person who wrote this lied just so he’d have yet another opportunity to go on and on and on and ON about how great it is to be old.

Growing Older , I decided, is a gift.

Right. Smallpox is a gift too! I kid, I kid… but, honestly, getting old is just — getting old. It’s absurd for people to totemize old age. Being old is absolutely no guarantee of wisdom. As this saccharine “Getting Old” essay amply demonstrates.

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be.

What took you so damned long? Talk about a late bloomer.

Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body … The wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the cellulite.

A few hours on the treadmill every week could help with that. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you have to quit caring about your appearance or your health.

And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror, but I don’t agonize over those things for long.

I’m guessing that’s because they don’t stick in your memory for more than a few minutes. After all, if you’re literally forgetting what you look like… that’s not a good sign, dude.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly.

News Flash, old fart! You don’t have to trade. You can have it all!

As I’ve aged, I’ve become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself.

Eh… some self-criticism is a good thing. That’s actually one of the biggest problems with the world: people who aren’t sufficiently critical of themselves.

I’ve become my own friend.

Heh… well, I guess someone had to.

I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cookie,

Christ. No wonder you’ve got cellulite.

or for not making my bed,

Slob.

or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn’t need, but looks so avant garde on my patio.

That actually sounds pretty cool, but… what kind of pathetic loser chides himself for buying a silly cement gecko? Jeez. You must have been a miserable young person.

I am entitled to be messy, to be extravagant, to smell the flowers.

And you only now figured that out?

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon;

Don’t tell me: they committed suicide to escape your endless lame “philosophizing”.

before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

And that is….what? The freedom to belch without saying “Excuse me”? The freedom to blather on and on and on and not have people simply exit the room out of sheer boredom?

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 a.m and then sleep until — ?

Guess what? Nobody gives a shit what you do. You’re not nearly as wild and crazy as you might like to imagine.

I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 40′s 50′s & 60′s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love I will.

Fine. Live it up. And the rest of us will talk behind your back about what a pathetic whack-job you are.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the bikini set.

That’s not pity, you nitwit. That’s disgust. For the love of Pete, cover up! There’s a difference between being ashamed of your body and realizing that there are things other people simply don’t want to see.

They, too, will get old.

And, if God is good, they won’t be as tiresome as you are.

I know I am sometimes forgetful.

Alas, the internet remembers forever. And forever. I’ve received this thing probably a dozen times.

But then again, some of life is just as well forgotten and I eventually remember the important things.

We can only hope. But it probably won’t happen before almost everyone who knows you has found some way of escaping your endless yapping.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when a beloved pet gets hit by a car?

You left the back door open again, didn’t you? Idiot.

But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion.

No. Broken hearts give us pain. Intelligence and the ability transcend stupid platitudes are what give us strength, understanding, and compassion.

A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

Excuse me while I retch.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turn gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.

Oy vey. I’m starting to feel the effects of a sugar overdose.

So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

Yes, yes… very sad. Maybe they thought all they had to look forward to was an old age filled with sanctimonious drivel.

I can say “no,” and mean it. I can say “yes.” and mean it.

Good lord. I hope you didn’t wait until you were old to accomplish that.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive.

You think?

You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself anymore.

Maybe you should question yourself a bit more. Seriously.

I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

You think you needed to earn the “right” to be wrong? That’s just sad, man. This is stuff people ought to have already figured out by the time they’ve reached their 30s.

So, to answer your question,

There was a question? Jeez… you’ve been going on for so long, I’d nearly forgotten.

I like being older. It has set me free.

Ai yi yi.

I like the person I have become.

Well, I suppose someone had to.

I am not going to live forever,

Thank god.

but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day… (if I want)

Zzzzzzzzz…..

Today, I wish you a day of ordinary miracles.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Love simply.

But not irresponsibly. You know what that means. Use condoms. Every time.

Love generously.

If you’ve got to pay, I suppose you can probably just leave the money on the bedside table.

Care deeply.

And don’t forget to close the back door at night or you’re going to find yourself with plenty more opportunities for gaining “strength, understanding, and compassion”.

Good god. I hope I never become as much of an insufferable windbag as the author of this piece of crap.