“At sixty, a man has passed most of the reefs and whirlpools. Excepting only death, he has no enemies left to meet....That man has awakened to a new youth...Ergo, he is young.”
George Benjamin Luks, American painter
I have reservations about posting this on BC as it might only be appropriate for a personal blog, but what the heck. As to what category it should it go under, I will defer to the editors' judgment to place it (or misplace it) wherever they may chose. Satire? Culture? Whatever. Here is a Sunday afternoon's quiet reflections.
There are myriad wonderful benefits of middle age. It has taken me many years to come to this conclusion. In my younger days, I raged. I fumed. I ranted. I rebelled. I have pictures of me in my youth, when I had more hair, fewer wrinkles, and seemed to always have a serious expression on my face. I was attuned to every slight, every ill-mannered comment, every question of my knowledge or judgment. Even the slightest sense of a challenge to my omniscience - a lowly pharmacist questioning my dosage instructions on a prescription - would be enough coal to keep the fires of indignant outrage burning for the rest of the day.
I remember the daily annoyances that used to drive me absolutely berserk. Just the drive to and from work would toggle my buttons just the wrong way for the full 24 hours, usually every day. People parking their oversized SUVs too close to my car. Drivers pulling out in front of me, quickly and just in time to cut me off, and then slowing to a crawl. Or, as I approached a red light, pulling up on the side street, with perfect timing, there would be an oil-burning "hoopty" that would trip the traffic light and force me - ME! - to stop for their smoke-spewing, back-firing entrance onto the throughway. One lousy car - probably a minimum-wage dolt at that - and I have to stop for them! Or some politician giving a speech on television and saying all the wrong things. That would give me enough righteous outrage for days. A teenager with his car radio booming with those horrendous bass acoustics rattling his and, more importantly, my car windows.