Still Crazy After All These Years

Hopefully, Paul Simon will forgive me.

The end result of my ruminations of late has been a twisting spiral of glibness, some making sense, some not. In other words, micro brew about nothing. I really expected to have some insight at this age, something approaching wisdom. Nope. Instead, I have a sharpened sense of the ridiculous, and there is, as always, much of that to go around.

Change must of course come from within, but unless slowly rotting organs lead to brilliance, I fear the worst. Or as my uncle the deli owner was fond of saying, “Hope for the best, expect the wurst.”

I don’t want to say I’ve become complacent, but lately I am pleased if my balls are still close to where they were last year. Note to you youngsters: there will come a time when your friend’s cheerful cry of “How’s it hangin’?” will take on an entirely new meaning.

I’m not fearful of aging; it’s inevitable and natural. No, what scares me is loss of relevance. I don’t know if it’s inevitable, but I sure see it happening fast to more than a few of my youthful idols. As a group, some of us seem mostly relevant to each other, and what fun is that? Let’s face it, time starts to feel like it’s on the Bullet Train as we age, and it would behoove us to embrace the crazy and loosen up something besides our bowels.

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