I want to say, \u201cI\u2019m 80!\u201d Do I wish I were 80? Not exactly, but at 78, I\u2019m at that awkward age \u2013 two years to go to the next decade; it feels like being in my \u201cterrible twos\u201d in reverse \u2013 an age of stubborn, obstinate, uncompromising behavior. I expect, at eighty, to be mellower \u2013 four score years old, an Octogenarian, eight decades on the planet, a respected elder. <\/p>\n
I have two years of no man\u2019s land ahead, just another old guy stumbling along and mumbling to himself, getting no respect. When asked how old I am, I usually reply, \u201cEighty minus two.\u201d I get that eighty out there; it helps get me that, \u201cWow, you don\u2019t look that old.\u201d Lie or not, it\u2019s good to hear. Tossing the eighty into the mix helps evoke it. It also helps that I still have hair on my head and that I don\u2019t belt my pants halfway up my chest. <\/p>\n
You go through life, at least I did, in dread of entering the next decade. Turning 30 shocked me more than any other; I slid into my 40\u2019s, 50\u2019s and 60\u2019s with only a day or so with a grimace on my face. Seventy was a surprise, nothing like turning thirty, but it did shock me a bit. It seems like I just got started through the decade and all of a sudden, I\u2019m 78, two years shy of the almighty eighty. It\u2019s a decade that is passing faster than any of the others. <\/p>\n
I\u2019m anticipating, that when I turn eighty, serenity will settle in. \u201cI did it! I made it to the promised land.\u201d That\u2019s what I\u2019ll tell myself. I\u2019m not wishing away the next two years. I know they will slide by unnoticed, one lightning-fast day at a time. But, when I arrive at eighty, it will be with open arms. Like greeting a long-lost friend. But that\u2019s about another 100 articles away. I better get cracking.<\/p>\n