Fifty-five is kind of a strange number, isn’t it? It feels significant, but I’m damned if I can figure out why. It’s not halfway to anything in particular. Maybe it’s lingering from 55 being the upper speed limit on American roads for many years…and really, how did they choose that number, anyway? Why 55? Why not 50, or 60? How did they land on 55? It gave Mr. Hagar a nice rhyme for his classic song, sure…but I don’t know why 55 other than that. (Maybe if I actually looked it up, there’s a good reason.)
Anyway, I’ve just turned fifty-five. Here’s what that looks like:
I’m grayer in the hair and beard now, and the hair is thinning a bit up top and in back. I’m of mixed mind if I should attempt doing anything about this, maybe I’ll ask my doctor next time I’m in for a visit, I know there are treatments and whatnot but I’m not sure if I care enough to the point of spending actual money on it. Weight-wise, I’ve continued my long trajectory of being down, but very slowly: I seem to be another pound or two lighter every time I see the doctor, which at this rate is about 3-4 pounds of weight loss a year. I can live with this.
And of course, there are the normal aches and weird stuff that goes along with this age…getting down on the floor remains as easy as ever, but getting back up off it requires a bit more muscular investment than I’m used to. A few weeks ago I also went in for a diagnostic medical procedure that I was actually overdue to have done, but I suppose the less said about that, the better. (All is well, nothing was found that was bad, I don’t have to do that again for a few years, and let’s just say that preparing for this particular procedure was another data point in my longing for Star Trek medical tech where Dr. McCoy or Crusher or Bashir can just wave a doo-dad over your body and diagnose everything you got goin’ on, right then and there.)
I do note increasingly this disconnect between how old I mentally feel with how old I physically look and how old I’m socially seen. I don’t wanna be the Old Dude quite yet! But alas, I can’t control time, can I?
Anyway, yeah, here I am, 55 and aging nicely for now. And with that, I’m off to try to tidy up my library and finish laundry and–HEY! Get off my lawn, ya buncha hooligans!!!
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So THAT’S who did that song.
So I always remember your birthday since it’s the same as my father’s.
My hairline started receding when I was about 19 (I always one of those massive ‘fros – NOT in the cards). Do as you like, but I don’t personally see the need.