My friends are getting older. I guess that means I am as well. It’s a real shame you know, this whole ageing business. The worst part of the deal are the expectations, the dirty words that start to leak from the pores, the wrinkles of responsibility that one hopes to ignore in the dim lights of a bathroom at six in the morning. Words like mortgage, insurance, dental plan, fiscal prudence. Oh boy. Here it all comes, that slap in the face, the reflection in the mirror yelling at you while you stare at a silhouette you thought you knew…is that me? When did that happen? The memories of the past all seem so fresh, so close you could touch them, yet every time you think you’ve grasped one it disappears in a cloud of today.
Now, we all reach for the carrot at the end of the stick. The faces in the magazines sneer at us, gloating and bloated with the stench of wealth. “We made it”, they seem to snicker, “You’re doing the groceries, not so fancy, eh?” No need to rub it in, Jude, I want to say. Instead I pay for my Home-Brand soda-water and try to avoid eye-contact with the check-out chick (actually, it was a male serving me, but check-out boy seems a little, you know…). Turn on the telly and all we seem to see is people we want to be, or people just like us. The people you want to be make the rigmarole of the daily routine seem so bland, while the people just like us make you want to turn off the TV, and wonder why you’re watching them do what you’re doing. It’s a no-win situation, this whole set-up.
I was a boy once. I had dreams of making it big, I still do really. Optimism is the key, isn’t it? It’s never too late and all that rubbish. The thing is, to make it to your goal, you have to see what you’re aiming for. It’s not that easy with this bloody big carrot in front of me.
