A co-worker was complaining that he had injured his foot after landing funny. He figured it happened after jumping off a short wall. A very short wall.
“Man, this is what happens when we get old, right?” he said.
He is in his late 20s. I thought about bludgeoning him, but the only thing in reach was a box of tissues.
“No, bean sprout,” I told him. “It’s not ‘what happens when we get old.’ Just when we have the coordination of flopping fish.”
Maybe it hit me hard because I’m turning 43 next week. And like most of us, I don’t like this idea of growing older. That certain things are out of our control. My philosophy on age has always been that it’s all in your head. The more you get consumed by the notion that you’re getting older, the more you start to feel it. And the more you feel it, the more you fall off of walls. That’s my theory, at least.
So I go around looking at the world the way an 8-year-old might: I see butterflies and rocket ships everywhere. I eat a lot of ice cream. I never take the garbage out until I’ve been asked 22,000 times.
Try it. It works! You’ll be young forever.
But the older I get, the more I worry about the soundness of my theory. There have been a few cracks recently. Take my eyesight. I’ve always had 20/20 vision. The only one in my family. (I’ve held out hope that this means I was adopted and don’t share DNA with any of these crazy people.)
This year, though, I started worrying my vision wasn’t what it used to be. I hold books and newspapers farther away from my eyes, and sometimes I strain trying to read this or that. I hadn’t been to an eye doctor in years, and I wondered if “age” was starting to degrade my view of the world.
So I set up an exam and mostly got good news. My eyesight is still 20/20. I can get away with the slightest of reading glasses, and only need them for really small print. Hooray!
But then the doctor walloped me — like a box of tissue to the top of my head. “Enjoy it now,” he said. “It won’t last. It’s what happens when you get old.”
Ouch, doc! Way to let a man down easy.
My world shattered in front of my eyes. I could see THAT pretty clearly! It was the first direct hit to my “age is all in your head” theory. That maybe no matter what I do, or how I think about things, I won’t be able to beat this one.
On the verge of 43, the eye doctor left me slightly bruised. But I’m recovering. I haven’t picked out those reading glasses yet. I’m not quite ready to give in. I’m too busy seeing crystal-clear rocket ships wherever I look … and not injuring myself when I jump off walls.