Morphing

I fear, as I age, that I am becoming more and more “set in my ways”. This is something that I swore to myself, that I would never become. “Set in my ways.” To me, “getting set in my ways” is as ugly a sign of aging, as the ever increasing age spots that appear to be multiplying on my body at an exponential basis. Two age spots have just appeared on my left hand, I noticed, as I just glanced down at my hands, resting on the keyboard.

Daylight Saving Time (there is officially no “s” after Saving, btw) has thrown me for a big old loop. And this is annoying, because this fall end of Daylight Saving Time, is the one part that I used to actually always like, and to look forward to, but now, I notice that this particular Daylight Saving Time has just made me feel grumble-y. I am kind of annoyed that it is now light outside when I drive my daughter to school. I miss the darkness that helped to camouflage my bedhead, my crooked glasses, and my smeared mascara running down the side of my cheek that is typically more wrinkled than the other side of my face because I sleep on my side, much to the chagrin of my perfectionist dermatologist. The mask is off, and all of my morning imperfections are bared for every sneering, judgmental teenager to see.

Since the clocks fell back, everything feels just not quite right. Everything feels just a little “off.” When I was younger, I think that I just rolled with things a little bit better. Or maybe I wasn’t as perceptive. I didn’t notice as much. Maybe life was more of a blur when I was younger. Maybe I wasn’t quite as introspective and self aware back then. I’m almost 50. I’ve accumulated a lot of moments in life. I’ve learned that change is inevitable and I am not really in control of almost anything. I dropped that delusion a while ago. (well, maybe I still hang on to that illusion of control, here and there, but at least I am now aware that I’m delusional)

I had lunch with a good friend of mine the other day. We have known each other for thirty years. Lately our lunches center around the game of, “Is this normal?” Like, for instance, my hips are achy almost every single night, “Is this normal?” And then when she cops to achy hips, too, I feel sorry for her and greatly relieved, all at the same time. I imagine that if I called her up right now, somewhere in the conversation, I would sneak in, “Daylight Saving Time really messes with me more than ever. Is this normal?” And being a good friend, whether she honestly feels this way or not (although I suspect that she does), she would say, “Oh yes. I hope that the Florida legislature abolishes it soon. It really messes with my circadian rhythms, more than ever. I’m a mess.” And then I would smile with her, knowingly and appreciatively.

Yep, those are the kinds of conversations I have now with my friends. “Never Have I Ever” has morphed into “Is This Normal?” so fluidly, that I’m not even sure, exactly, of the precise moment when the game changed. And change irritates me now more than ever. I feel grumble-y, even after a restful weekend, with an extra hour of sleep. Is this normal?

“Oh, my ways are strange ways and new ways and old ways, And deep ways and steep ways and high ways and low, I’m at home and at ease on a track that I know not, And restless and lost on a road that I know.” – Henry Lawson