Tightened up

The price of an opinion is a loss of suppleness. Opinions hasten aging.

Marital moment

“You look like you’re 20,” I said. “I’m the same age I’ve always been,” she replied.

A limited utility

I drive a 10-year-old car. In terms of lifespan, my body is about the same age as my vehicle. I am living what Oprah calls “my best life” wen I treat my body in the same way I treat my car. Wash it regularly. No waxing. Don’t think about it overmuch. Those dings and scratches? Let them be. If something breaks, get it fixed. When the car is parked, forget the car.

How old am I?

Not to indulge in pettifoggery but I AM is ageless. In other words, never born, never died. And the body? Well, that’s another story. A bit of a blip, really. Rounded upward, it’s 100.

As old as God

Are we not alternately fascinated with, resigned to, fixated on and horrified by the process of aging? The reason for all of this turbulence is that we are in thrall to our bodies, utterly identified with them. But here’s the thing: We are not our bodies. We have bodies but only in the sense that we have cars, houses, clothes or any other material thing. In fact, the materiality of the body is what makes it difficult to change.

My body has an age measured in years. It has logged 68 of these. But the “I” that I am has no age. “I” is as old as God.