My side of the Moon
August 8, 2004
Early August, 2004. Moonsownsister is buying a tropical fish and hands her driver's license to the young lady behind the counter. Said cashier looks at ID casusually, does a double-take, stares at Moonsownsister's face, looks back at ID. Astonishment writ large.

Lady: You do NOT look your age!
Me: Um... (the "um" is when I was forcefully restraining myself from saying the first thing that came to mind, and thinking of something less vulgar to say) I'm thirty-eight and glad to be here.  Whose age do I look?
Lady:  No, I mean, it's just that you're only ten years younger than my MOM!
Me: You know what's really scary? I can vividly remember 1976, and that's ancient history to you.
Lady: Omigosh! You are doing GOOD.
I can't say that this exchange was reassuring, because I don't require reassuring about my age. Many other things, yes, but I can't imagine not claiming every single day of my life. This reluctance to own our years may stem from our dread of acknowledging our mortaility. I think that's a really backwards way of looking at the whole thing. Here's my take: I am mortal. Some day I will die. I will not be, as we know being, any longer. Dying is the one thing we all eventually manage to get right.

What I find astonishing and wonderful is that any of us are actually here, right now, present in this moment, able to wrap ourselves in the immense and unlikely reality that we are alive.

I am thirty-eight. Cool!

I'm told that the years have been kind to me. Maybe it's because I'm not fighting them.
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