We're getting old, my people.

I lost most of yesterday to Facebook. I’m a little embarrassed by it, but I had so much fun posting pictures from elementary and high school. Even though most feature me in my painfully awkward stage (grades five through ten), the pictures captured some of the more fun times. Connecting with people has been awesome. It also made me acutely aware of the passage of time. I graduated from elementary school over twenty years ago. We are getting old, my people, and fast.

Age and mortality is something that I’ve been contemplating a lot lately. Earlier this week, I was going through a box of stuff saved from my old job. In the box was a large envelope filled with thank you and holiday cards from colleagues and the people we served. One was a thank-you card from a woman who I genuinely liked and respected. She thanked me for something I did and for being an example. She died the following year from complications. She fought until the very last hour and was concerned about giving to others and making everyone else comfortable. She’s just one of several people that I know who have passed away since I moved to California. When your life is filled with people with varying degrees of poor health, mortality weighs heavily on your mind. The passage of time is filled with dread as you try to ignore the expiration date that’s stamped on your forehead.

On the other side of the spectrum, it seems like everyone I know has either recently had a child or is expecting a baby. It brings me no small amount of happiness to see the pictures of these families growing up. With them, we view time differently. We celebrate children getting older, learning more, becoming more of who they truly are. When we’re young, we embrace the passage of time. We can’t wait for the next thing we’ll be able to do when we’re old enough.

Right now, we’re somewhere in the middle, trying to figure out if we’re going to embrace getting older or mourn the experiences we denied ourselves. I am completely split down the middle. On one hand, I’m grateful for every day that I get. As much as I bitch and moan, I have a long list of things I want to accomplish and I’m not quitting before then. I also have a theory that with all the meds that are pumped into me daily, I will eventually become bionic and outlive all of you suckers. At the same time, I think about the times that I didn’t do something because I was afraid. There are more than I would like to admit, and that makes me sad.

When someone asks me how I feel about getting older, I often quote my sister. “I’m getting old, man. Getting closer to fifty.” But somehow that no longer seems so terrible.

Smile. It’s Friday. It’s a celebration.