at what age do you become old? when i was a kid, pretty much anyone over the age of 25 was “old” but as i’ve grown older myself, that line has shifted a little every year. it’s almost as if the definition of ‘old’ in my head is not so much a fixed age itself, but rather a vague number of years older than i currently am. in 6 days i will be 45. is that old? i don’t feel old. but the signs are there around me that maybe the vague offset of years between my current age and my definition of old is getting smaller. i see friends complain more and more about their broken bodies after doing the slightest of physical activities. my best and dearest of friends falls asleep on the couch in the middle of the afternoon and repeats the same story day after day without realizing he’s repeating himself… there are people i know who have died this past year that were the same age as me.
i’m not quite ready for ‘old’ yet. i’m not sure i ever will be. there are too many things which i have not done yet, too many things which i haven’t learned, too many people i haven’t met, too many places i haven’t seen.
for the last 20 years i have outwardly told anyone who asks that i don’t care about my birthday. it’s easier that way, removes any pressure, and eliminates the possibility for disappointment. but the truth is, i do care. and every year i am disappointed. not because i want extravagant gifts or big parties or anything like that, i legit could not care less about material stuff. no, i think i am disappointed because most of the time all i want is for someone to surprise me with something thoughtful, but that rarely happens.
this year, i would like to hear from you, g. when you came back to this area i was super fucking pumped man. i missed hanging out with you. i tried to open every door i could for you and your family. i introduced you to my small, but tightly knit circle of friends, most of whom you already kind of knew from before. i kept an open door policy at my house, you were always welcome any time, without any advance notice. mi casa es su casa. i sent you messages, tried calling you, tried making plans. sometimes it worked out, but very rarely, there was always some excuse. and now you’re leaving again, for good i suspect. you’re leaving in 7 days and the last message i have from you is from 3 weeks ago when you said you would sort out whatever it is you needed to sort out and then let me know “next week” when we could hang out, to which i replied “just name the time and place and i’ll be there”. i know you’re not going to say anything. i know the next message i get from you will likely be in 2025. i won’t hold a grudge. i will still talk to you as if not even a day had passed. but still, i hope you prove me wrong and surprise me before you go.