Aging
Drew and I were walking to AAA to register his car yesterday when I saw a frail old man shuffling to a mailbox. He was only in view for a few seconds but it was long enough for me to observe his grimace as he pulled down the tray and slipped his letter inside.
Then I got a flash of what it might be like to be that man and I thought about how I must look to him. Suddenly there was this clearing out in my mind. I felt a shudder of guilt about my incessant, adolescent whining about my weight, my hair, about chores like walking eight blocks to register a car. I wondered if, when I'm 85, I will look at a 30 year-old man and smile to myself knowing how ignorant he is of what it's like to live without pain every day, without illness; how thankful he should be that a trip to the mailbox doesn't even register in his mind as any kind of accomplishment.
I started to say something to Drew, but then I censored myself. All this midlife crisis talk starts to smell of egotism after a while.
Then I got a flash of what it might be like to be that man and I thought about how I must look to him. Suddenly there was this clearing out in my mind. I felt a shudder of guilt about my incessant, adolescent whining about my weight, my hair, about chores like walking eight blocks to register a car. I wondered if, when I'm 85, I will look at a 30 year-old man and smile to myself knowing how ignorant he is of what it's like to live without pain every day, without illness; how thankful he should be that a trip to the mailbox doesn't even register in his mind as any kind of accomplishment.
I started to say something to Drew, but then I censored myself. All this midlife crisis talk starts to smell of egotism after a while.
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