Many times we are faced with thoughts we may not necessarily welcome. Lately, the words nearing sixty has been popping into my conscious mind at odd times. Now, I'm only fifty-four, so I don't think I can really state with any confidence -- nor would I want to -- that I am nearing sixty. At least not until I am on the back side of fifty-five. I don't want to rush things. In fact, I'm always doing my best to slow things down. Some may call it procrastinating, but I call it slowing things down to a reasonable pace.
I've always been bothered by hustle and bustle of maintaining an existence in this society, but lately -- with the recent spate of helicopters hovering overhead, and a plethora of summertime sirens and screeches -- I'm about ready to consider the monastery again. There's just that little bit about me being married and being an atheist. Minor details, I'm sure.
I don't feel like I'm "the older guy with the beard and glasses" in the store, but that fits my description. That a would be me in the lineup of other fifty-somethings. I forget that I have all those years behind me though. I'm often fooled into thinking that some customer that I'm dealing with is older than me, but it's only because he has an air of authority. It's the bitter odor of authority I'm smelling and not the sour tang of old age.
I still have a problem with authority. My problem, for the most part, is my strict adherence to authority. I'm getting too old to care whether you wear a tie and drive a Tesla. Have fun at your summer house, and your ski cabin. I'll be sitting here, counting stars, but not my lucky stars. I live day to day. Sometimes I have to put some effort into letting go of previous days. My mind likes to go over the dark stuff, and try and find cracks emitting light. Best to just let it go and welcome the sunshine -- or rain -- today.
As I near sixty, I have to remind myself that the speed limit is sixty-five on I-5, so I need to get my ass in gear and look alive. I want to pump some emotional prosperity into my last decades on this blue planet, and have a few more adventures. I don't believe in bucket lists, and my fuck-it list is so long, I can't keep track anymore.
One bright spot about reaching sixty years of age, is that is the same year that the fifteen dollar minimum wage will take effect for me, and my co-workers at the bookstore. That is, if the whole idea of a fifteen dollar minimum wage doesn't destroy the country first. Meanwhile, I'm out of peanut butter, which makes having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch a little difficult.