In Sea Turtle Years

by Jer

"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." -Mark Twain

My eyeballs haven't aged.

When I look in the mirror - inches from it, really - and take in the lines, contours and imperfections on my face, I can see clearly that I am no longer the little boy whose reflection I seem to recall seeing not so long ago.

Around my eyes are lines that fan out and immediately fade. There are groves across my forehead that were once only revealed when I would furrow my brow, but are now always visible. The rate at which my nose and ears produce hair is only rivaled by my course, patchy beard.

And then there is my scalp.

First, my hairline is fighting two losing battles of the bulge on both sides of my head so that what remains resembles Eddie Munster's widow's peak. And then there is the thinning; oh, the thinning! I recently had the displeasure of seeing the back and top of my head in a security camera at a local store. No wonder it is coldest up there on brisk, winter days.

Lastly, the grays. I've never seen them, but my wife insists that they are there. Every once and a while she will supposedly dislodge one with a pair of tweezers. My typical response is to accuse her of planting it; which - figuratively speaking - is probably closer to the truth than either of us is willing to admit.

But the eyes have reminded timeless. They are the same color and texture that I recall having always seen. I concede it could be argued that the human eyeball doesn't age in the same manner as skin, and therefore isn't as reliable in gauging one's age.

My driver's licence indicates that I will be turn 39 this year, and while I'm just over a year removed from becoming middle-aged, my identity and self-perception sometimes tell me I'm just barely old enough to vote.

If the eyes - as the old adage goes - are the windows to the soul, my windows reveal an early spring scene. In other analogous words, my body ages in dog-years relative to my identity... or my identity ages in sea turtle-years; take your pick.

I admit denial must play a role; aging is a curse in western society.

Strange that we would make a curse out of the inevitable.

In the same way that we laud youth's beauty and physical achievements, shouldn't we lend praise to the wisdom and knowledge of the senior generations?

Stupid question. "Wisdom sells" is a lie.

So when my body breaksdown - and it will - and the reality of aging sets in, am I in for a rude awakening?

Probably, but I'm banking on some of that aforementioned wisdom to see me through to the brighter side of things. The side that still sees an early spring scene in the mirror even though it's winter to others.