When I was six or maybe seven, my family…Mom, Dad, little sister, me…lived in a large one-room cabin…aka, a shack… in Shady Cove, Oregon, a small mill and logging town in the north end of the Rogue Valley. When a neighbor drove home in a new Buick, I looked at our old Ford and asked my dad if we were poor. He laughed and said, “No. We’re broke. Poor is a state of mind. Broke is only temporary.”
That’s how I feel about aging. When my long time friends claim to be “old,” and embrace the idea, I object. I am aging, which I happen to think is a very nice thing, but I’m not getting “old.”
Dylan Thomas said it best, I think: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at closing day; Rage, Rage against the dying of the light.”
Thank you, Dylan Thomas.