Carolyn J. Rose
Imagine
the scariest carnival ride you’ve ever been on. Now imagine there are no
security bars or belts, the bolts are loose, and there’s a honey badger at the
controls.
That’s the wheel of time. Scream all you want, but don’t look back or you’ll get mental whiplash.
One moment you’re a teenager preparing for a hot date; you’re slapping on aftershave or dabbing perfume behind your ears. The next you’re hunched over your computer shopping for special soap to get rid of “old person smell.”
Instead of balancing on one foot with hands outstretched as part of an exercise routine, you’re leaning against a wall and aiming the off-the-ground foot at the leg hole of your underwear.
Once you devoured a tub of butter-drenched popcorn while watching a movie. Now, if popcorn is part of your diet at all, chances are it’s a carefully measured amount of the low-salt, low-calorie variety. And the days of scoffing at the benefits of prunes are also over, although you may be in denial. You may note them as dried plums on your shopping list and eat them in secret.
Back in the day your skin was smooth and supple. Now you have more wrinkles than a raised-relief map. And let’s not talk about sagging. Once you went without a bra. But these days, while fighting a losing battle with gravity, you shop the extra-support section.
You’ve traded high heels for down-at-the-heels shoes and slippers. You buy gel insoles with arch support. Those baggy clothes, back then a fashion statement, are now snug.
Once you jumped behind the wheel and regularly broke the speed limit on the freeway. Now you putter on back roads and wish for a chauffeur while bad-mouthing those who honk and swerve around you. And there was a time you had no trouble remembering complicated directions to a kegger far out in the boondocks. Now you can’t remember how to program your GPS.
In the days when phones were black, blocky, and hardwired with just enough cord to make a short jump rope, you worried you’d miss important calls. Now you wish for better ways to block spam calls.
Once you could tiptoe quietly enough to sneak out of the house without your parents hearing. Now your joints click and creak loud enough to wake the neighbors on a windy night.
And don’t get me started on the time you had no problem staying up all night and how your doctor was practically a stranger. Don’t let me go off on a tangent about buying marijuana or the state of education or politics.
Thinking about all these changes can deliver the kind of terminal vertigo and nausea you’d get strapped to a giant Slinky tumbling down the service stairs of a skyscraper.
But jumping off isn’t much of an option. So hang on and ride.
