Come on eyes! Hold out another year. I just need one more year.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Next week I celebrate my birthday. The last one in my 40s. A final hoorah before turning 50 next year. It\u2019s kind of scary really. And intimidating. The idea of turning 50 carries so much weight. It\u2019s a milestone, and a midway point. When you start getting those senior discounts. Wait! What? Really?!? And I guess when people can legally start calling you a \u201csenior.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ohhhhh. Cruel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But it weighs on me for other reasons, too. Some more physical. That it might mark when \u201cchanges\u201d start to set in. Already I can feel them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like my eyesight. Sure, it\u2019s still pretty good at a distance. But up close? It\u2019s like a steamy sauna. A foggy drive with a windshield smeared by a candy car. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Let\u2019s call it dodgy, even with low-grade cheater glasses. Up close, things are getting blurrier. Like menus. Or fingernail clipping. I noticed this one the other day. That if I\u2019m not wearing reading glasses, it\u2019s all guesswork. Random snipping. I\u2019m either taking off several millimeters of fleshy tip, or clipping 5 inches from my nearest digit. I inspected a middle finger later and it was a dead ringer for Mt. Everest. All jagged peaks and crags. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ve been holding off going to the eye doctor. I think it\u2019s because I don\u2019t want to finish up my 40s with a diagnosis that reads: \u201csoon-to-be senior needs glasses \u2026 because he\u2019s old!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No thanks. I want one more year before I\u2019m ready to deal with that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So, I\u2019m faced with heavy choices: Do I start wearing cheater glasses around my neck on a string? Do I carry a magnifying glass? Do I walk around with a chunk of broken glass? It could be functional while also making me look cool and menacing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But as I get close to that intimidating number next year, I\u2019m finding my eyesight isn\u2019t the only thing that signals change. As if on cue, the looming fifth decade is teasing me with what\u2019s to come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like searching for BOGOs! I don\u2019t know when, or why this started, but I didn\u2019t even know what a BOGO (Buy One Get One) was until a few months ago. Then, while I was sleeping, a prophet of the supermarket seniors spoke to me in a dream. He said: \u201cYou must go into the world and search out deals that double thou value by begetting you one free for each ye\u2019 buy. Now go and BO-GO!!!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And just like that, I was hunting for free boxes of instant oatmeal or packages of licorice. I don\u2019t even like to eat them. Is that a sign?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or how I have a house sweater now. That\u2019s right! Don\u2019t pretend that\u2019s not a thing. I come home from work and immediately reach for a gray zip-up fleece. I\u2019m like Mr. Rogers! I don\u2019t know why this has started. I\u2019m not even cold. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Sensible. Dignified. And a great complement to my house slippers, my newspaper and my pipe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I find I drink more tea than beer these days. And not like iced tea, either. We\u2019re talking English breakfast \u2026 for lunch! And green tea. The antioxidants or something. I don\u2019t know why. I think it tastes like boiled yard waste. But, man, I drink a LOT of tea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I listen to Broadway musicals almost exclusively. I had a stimulating conversation about rising mortgage interest rates. I took the time to look up the nutritional value of figs. (Who does that?!?) And I\u2019ve found myself saying things like: \u201cYou know, back in my day\u201d and then insert some boring activity that no one does any more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I feel like I\u2019m changing. Metamorphosizing into someone \u2013 or something \u2013 different. Still me. Or like me. Yet, somehow different. Changed. Or, changing. I don\u2019t know what to make of it. Who this new guy is. It\u2019s not all bad. My retirement fund keeps growing. I don\u2019t eat ketchup soup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But as the countdown to 50 begins, it has me uncomfortable and anxious and concerned. I don\u2019t need it to come any sooner than it already is. So, I\u2019ll just put off that eye appointment a bit longer. Keep bandaging up my snipped-off finger tips. I might just get a chunk of broken glass to help me read things. All the better to spot those BOGOs in the grocery store.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Come on eyes! Hold out another year. I just need one more year. <\/p>\n
Next week I celebrate my birthday. The last one in my 40s. A final hoorah before turning 50 next year. It\u2019s kind of scary really. And intimidating. The idea of turning 50 carries so much weight. It\u2019s a milestone, and a midway point. When you start getting those senior discounts. Wait! What? Really?!? And I guess when people can legally start calling you a \u201csenior.\u201d <\/p>\n
Ohhhhh. Cruel. <\/p>\n
But it weighs on me for other reasons, too. Some more physical. That it might mark when \u201cchanges\u201d start to set in. Already I can feel them. <\/p>\n
Like my eyesight. Sure, it\u2019s still pretty good at a distance. But up close? It\u2019s like a steamy sauna. A foggy drive with a windshield smeared by a candy car. <\/p>\n
Let\u2019s call it dodgy, even with low-grade cheater glasses. Up close, things are getting blurrier. Like menus. Or fingernail clipping. I noticed this one the other day. That if I\u2019m not wearing reading glasses, it\u2019s all guesswork. Random snipping. I\u2019m either taking off several millimeters of fleshy tip, or clipping 5 inches from my nearest digit. I inspected a middle finger later and it was a dead ringer for Mt. Everest. All jagged peaks and crags. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[579,557],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2356","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2022-nutshells","category-getting-old-er-older"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2356","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2356"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2356\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2357,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2356\/revisions\/2357"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2356"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2356"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2356"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}