This essay from the NY Times describes how baby boomers are basically in denial about aging. I plead guilty. I can’t remember when it was, but it was within the last decade that it suddenly hit me that people I encountered whom I thought of as old and whom I then went on to conclude that they were older than me may have actually been younger than me. And at some point in my early fifties I realized I had spent the last few decades of my life thinking of myself as basically just 25. Then a few years ago I upped it to 35, and I’m now considering making it 40. I’m actually 63. There’s some point to this pitiful exercise in denial. Everyone says I look way younger than my age, plus for years I was healthy enough to play in pick-up soccer games without any trouble.
Still, my high-school class has a website, and it seems that about every month we are informed of the death of a classmate. The most depressing announcement came a few weeks ago when I learned that a girl who had sat next to me in fifth grade and who had disappeared from view had actually died several years ago. It was depressing because I already knew that the girl who sat on the other side of me at that time was also dead. We were in rows of three, and I was in the middle between those two girls, both of whom are now dead. Ugh.
So, my generation is passing on, and what can we say about our legacy? It’s too depressing to think about, but at least I'm not in denial about that.