There have been signs, but I have chosen to ignore them. But now I have to face the truth. I’m getting old.
At first it was little things—servers stopped asking for my id when I ordered drinks, I felt uncomfortable wearing short shorts, I started knitting, staying up late started meaning midnight instead of 4 a.m. I was able to dismiss all of these pretty easily—my confidence in ordering surely conveyed that I was over 21, short shorts plus twenty pounds gained in law school do not mix, knitting is relaxing, and I had early classes so of course midnight is late.
This weekend, though, something happened that I can neither dismiss nor explain. Literally. I have no explanation. I woke up on Saturday morning with a sore right knee. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
When I was a kid, I would often develop bruises that I didn’t remember making—but that’s what being extremely clumsy and unobservant of your surroundings causes. In college, the unexplained injuries got a little worse; booze + natural clumsiness = broken toe (true story!).
The thing is, though, in both of those eras of my life the unexplained are actually explainable. Apparently in this era of my life, the explained is just plain unexplained. I don’t like it. Not one bit. And here’s why: this has made me realize is that I’m entering that era of my life where waking up with a weird bruise or strange ache or broken toe doesn’t mean I had a LOT of fun the night before. Instead, it just means I’m old.