We give too much strength to numbers.
This weekend, the Mystery Woman reached her 67th birthday. In a few months, I'll be 69. Those numbers belong to us. But they do not define us. Not completely. They are merely numbers.
Mystery Woman, comma, 67. Geezer, comma, 69. Well, if you say so. But we really don't feel that old. And neither, I suspect, do millions of aging Boomers. We act and feel much younger. By choice.
Despite health problems, despite everything, each of us is surprised when we crank out another birthday. I wonder if my parents lied about my age -- in the wrong direction.
Age, like crime, isn't something that happens in our neighborhood.
Monday, June 18, 2007
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1 comment:
I used to ask people their ages whenever I interviewed them. Now, I seldom ask. Their lives are what's important, not the digits inbetween the commas somewhere in a story. Great post, George. -- Denise
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