Tempo

Someone once told me that time is man-made but I think it depends on how you define time. 

My 61^st birthday is rapidly approaching yet I find myself still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am a sexagenarian!  It sounds so venerable and occasionally I find myself trying to conduct myself as though I am worthy of that dignity.  But my sense of humour, my youthfulness cracks through every time and never more so than when I am that lamentable beast, the C-train.  I am not sure that my colleagues actually get my humour when I tell them that I often feel like a psychopath on that train so if I ever did go berserk I’ve laid the foundation for an insanity plea without much effort.

In truth I already learned in my 50’s that age has no meaning if you don’t give it any.  Entering into my 50’s I felt completely at peace with myself, I was content with who I was, where I was and where I saw myself going.  That is why I feel a little disconcerted about how I feel as a 60 year old.  I suppose in the deep recesses of my mind I must have felt that 60 was old, it even sounds like an old number.  But I echo the words of Lauren Bacall’s character “but inside, I still feel young” and in the end, isn’t that all that matters?

Perhaps, if it wasn’t for the fact that we must interact with others and this is where it gets a little scary.  Because, I must confess to some arrogance, because yes, I feel Entitled.  I feel entitled to respect.  When a person reaches the age of 60 I believe that respect is in order.  I admit it, I feel almost as though it is a God given Right.  Oh dear, is this what growing old means – entitlement?

Lest ye don’t understand, tongue is firmly in cheek.