The only “boy” part of being a birthday boy is “Boy, you look weather-beaten,” just like the antique mirror, trying not to crack and being overwhelmed while reflecting. Mirror, mirror on the wall, where the hell are my glasses? Oh, in their favorite hiding place, atop my near-bald head!
Speaking of reflections, how did that old clown sneak past security again? Things to do today: breathe in, breathe out, repeat with grace at my side. Thus KISS – keep it simple, stupid – because even old goats attempt stupid human tricks.
Post-birthday, I don’t feel any older. In fact, I don’t feel much of anything. So if there’s no pain, am I still alive?
I can’t have a clear-eye view of my past if it’s blurred by the sandstorms of time. However, the blurriness helps smooth out the facial wrinkles, and the sand-blasted attitude doesn’t give a damn.
Being a curious apple in the family tree, I recently traced my roots on 23andMe. Obviously, there was no lifeguard on duty at the original gene pool. However, I always give myself the benefit of the doubt, even when obviously it’s extremely doubtful I will benefit.
I can’t keep hounding myself about aging because naturally, I’m gone to the dogs. So I’ll accept what it is, then adjust accordingly, rather than keep barking up the wrong trees. Thus, as is, is what life is. It’s no dress rehearsal, so show up each day, fully dressed, and don’t sit this one out.
I can’t outpedal insecurity and fear if I become preoccupied peddling it. Rather, I remain serene by treating myself and others with loving kindness, respect and compassion every day.
Hopefully, when I die at my last rodeo, it’s with an accepting, satisfied smile.
Mike Beebe
Lyndeborough