I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing

You know, it’s very hard to grow old, or rather, to grapple with the idea that I’m going to hit the big 40 in a couple of years' time. Sure, I’ve heard that age is just a number… but is it really? The numbers do add up after all, and the bigger the number, the scarier the prospect. 40? I can’t even begin to imagine it.

In fact, since I hit my 30s, I’ve more or less conveniently ‘lost track’ of my age – probably a subconscious attempt to evade the fact that the years are really rolling by at what seems to be an increasingly rapid pace. But numbers aside, there are signs that can’t be ignored… the little lines around the eyes… the aches and twinges at various bodily locations… the lessened capacity for excess in any form (money excepted)… and I don’t know how long I can hold up the dam against the waters of realization. I mean, just how much self-denial can I indulge in? I look at my old photos and realise that I don't really recognise the girl in them anymore. I look at my face in the mirror sometimes, and I'm not sure I know the woman looking back at me either.

I don’t think my fears are approaching the level of gerascophobia (an abnormal and persistent fear of growing old). I suppose of all the jumbled-up emotions, the one that emerges strongest is that of a kind of anger; a resentment of the world, of time, of Life itself – how dare it all pass me by so stealthily and relentlessly, when I still have so much to do, to see, to try, to give? Where is my golden moment? Must I really settle for mediocrity?

Mark Twain once said, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter”.

But what happens when you do mind?