Existential Times Ten

Every tenth birthday I feel like an imposter.  I know I’m older.  I look at myself in the mirror every day when I brush my teeth, but every slight change is so gradual that it’s deceiving.  Then one day I’m saying “when did THAT age spot become so visible?”  I am 60 years old today.  Ten years ago Jenny threw a big party for my 50th birthday and said “Dave is golden.”  I remember thinking ‘this is probably the last party of this sort.’  I knew I wasn’t old enough to be considered a senior citizen, but I was getting close.  Ten years before that my coffeehouse kids filled our car with Geritol, and teased me about being ‘over the hill.’  The night before I turned 30 I got drunk with Eddie Delahunt, and didn’t really sober up until the next day.  I know that I’m not going to live forever and every 10 years feels like a wake-up call.  It’s real easy to think about people and places that aren’t around me anymore.  My melancholy reflection can turn into a stupor.  My sister calls me ‘Eeyore’ when I get like this – or at least she did that one time.  Despite the changes in life, and my differences with people I love, I feel more confident and connected than ever – even more than when I turned 20 on Lake Olathe.  That night I was surrounded by college friends by a campfire while a battery powered boombox played ‘Your Love’ by the Outfield.