Image by Vilius Kukanauskas from Pixabay

As my 68th birthday looms on the horizon like a cake topped with far too many candles (seriously, do fire extinguishers come as standard with those things now?), I’ve found myself reflecting on the curious passage of time. At least, I assume that’s what we’re supposed to do as a milestone birthday approaches, right? Reflect? Contemplate? Ponder the mysteries of life? I’ll get right on that… after I’ve spent an hour or two feeling sorry for myself, of course.

Honestly, I remember when turning 30 felt like the beginning of the end, and here I am, facing 68, thinking, “Well, that escalated quickly.” The good news is that I’m still here, spry enough to occasionally confuse teenagers with my dated slang. (They may not understand the concept of “groovy,” but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop using it any time soon.)

Now, I’ll be honest and admit that getting to this age has come with a couple of surprises. First off, did you know that people assume I’ve got life all figured out by now? Spoiler alert: I don’t. Every day is a series of attempts to remember why I walked into a room and resisting the urge to shake my fist at clouds. If anyone asks for wisdom, I’ll let them know the most profound thing I’ve learned is that cheese makes everything better. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

One thing’s for sure, though—getting older has its perks. People hold doors open for you, call you “sir” (which sounds alarmingly more frequent), and if you forget something, it’s simply chalked up to senility. Genius. Plus, I’m finally at that point where I can dress myself in truly ridiculous clothing and no one will question me. It’s a fashion victory, decades in the making!

And then there’s the invitations to join senior discounts, which—let’s be honest—are both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, cheaper meals! On the other hand, there’s the very awkward realization that you’re officially part of “that age group.” It’s like being inducted into a secret club, except instead of cool handshakes, it’s more like conversations about knee replacements and bowel movements. Lovely.

Image by Peter Schmidt from Pixabay

Of course, a big birthday means people will inevitably ask, “What are you going to do to celebrate?” To which I respond: I plan to stay vertical for as long as possible, with minimal naps and maximum cake. At this stage, any celebration that doesn’t require my putting on shoes or leaving the comfort of my home is ideal. Let’s face it, I’ve spent decades going out, dressing up, and pretending to be excited about small talk. I think it’s about time to reclaim the joy of pajamas and slippers.

So, here’s to the big 68. I may not be as quick as I used to be (although I swear I still have the energy to give a few sarcastic remarks), but I’m embracing every gray hair, every wrinkle, and every new ache and pain like they’re old friends. After all, it’s not the years, it’s the mileage—and believe me, I’ve racked up quite a bit of that!

In conclusion: pass the cake, adjust the ridiculous hat, and let’s keep this aging train rolling. My wife and dogs are anxiously awaiting my next foray into making an old fool of myself.

Image by Couleur from Pixabay