Lose

When I get through with showering and dressing, I often look in the mirror and remark with some surprise that "I've got an all right look". I'm pleasantly surprised, of course. That's not to say that I look as young as I did a few years ago. I look a bit rougher, I think. In ten years and twenty years, that will only be more pronounced. For the moment it's endearing, but eventually it will not be so much so. I just hope that I handle it all right.

I think that the best way to deal with getting older is to be graceful about it. Going down with a desperate struggle doesn't make things any better. When I get old, I hope to be a man about it. I hope to continue on all my days doing the best I can that day to make myself presentable, but to never try looking young when it is obviously no longer possible. As I said, for the moment it remains a feasible enterprise.

The Odd Years

I always take stock some as the new year approaches, but that heightens after the new year, for my birthday follows shortly thereafter. There is something particular I'm thinking about this year. I have never liked having an odd-numbered age. Even before my age started to become an unpleasant thing to contemplate I disliked being, let's say, fifteen instead of fourteen. As it's only my twenty-ninth birthday coming, maybe I shouldn't be too bothered on that point, but the other thing bothers me.

I don't imagine that I have to think too hard in order to figure out why I don't like the odd birthdays. I have a history of your standard obsessive-compulsive habits. I never could bear stepping on the line between segments of sidewalk, and had to step on each the same, even number of times. A lot of that stuff is not much of an issue anymore, but I remain somewhat ill at ease with my very age being an odd number.