57? How did this happen?

Happy birthday to me. Daughter Juli says that getting old is the BEST one can hope for, so I'll dispense with the whining and be thankful for this milestone. In reality, I'm only one day older than yesterday.

But sometimes the fact that I'm this "old" is a shocker. The other night at dinner, I was relating a story about being 10 years old the day President Kennedy was assassinated and the faces around the table were akin to listening to a first-hand account of the Civil War from a grizzled, ancient veteran. They learned this stuff from history books, for heaven's sake; how could someone be so old as to remember it personally?

And I don't feel all that old. Okay, I've got aches and pains getting out of bed in the morning, memory lapses (that correct themselves, given a few days), gray hair and wrinkles, calluses and age spots. But I lack the wisdom and perspective and grace and kindness that I associate with venerable age. Inside, it still feels like a hungry quest for knowledge and understanding. I have not yet arrived. I'm still trying to figure it all out.

I refuse to join AARP (hate their politics). I'll probably never collect a dime from Social Security, given the spendthrifts in Congress and their asinine fiscal irresponsibility. As long as I stay away from mirrors, I can move through my days thinking I'm about 22 and my whole life is still ahead of me.