The Bloody Doors Off

But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too

Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

Fuck getting older.

If I had my twenty-year old body, with my nearly 55-year old mind.

I’d be unstoppable.

Okay. Hyperbole.

My anxiety got worse, the older I got.

But the sentiment.

To have that energy.

The stamina.

The smaller gut.

Heh.

Used to say, “give me a few minutes”.

Then, “give me a few hours.”

Now.

“Gimme a day.”

Everything slows down.

You’ve gotta learn to compensate.

Adapt.

Improvise.

Even in my work.

I recognize I’m being eclipsed by the new crop.

They know so much more than me.

I’m playing catch-up.

Adapting.

Improvising.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’ve accomplished some great things.

Not the least of which was meeting my wife.

But physically, I feel it.

I know. Age is a state of mind.

Which makes me.

Definitely not twenty.

I remember, in my twenties, thinking I’d be improvising forever.

That’s how much I loved it.

Now.

It’s passed me by.

People are more concerned about getting the next laugh.

I liked telling a story.

Which led me to playwriting. (I have no idea if that’s spelled right.)

But even that’s dried up right now.

Maybe the change in season will spark something.

Maybe I just need to make a wish on a Zoltar machine.

If Tom Hanks can be Big.

I could be.

Unstoppable.