Late yesterday, a young, unusually pretty woman — I would guess a college student — took out a lease on the apartment across the hall from me. I briefly met her and she seemed pleasant and outgoing.
That was several hours ago. Besides thinking she’ll probably make an OK next door neighbor, I’ve been busy with other matters — including catching some sleep — until just now, when it popped into my head: “Her youth and beauty reminds me I’m growing old.”
Yet, that kind of thought is not so strange anymore.
About the time I turned 50, which was almost four years ago, my mortality started to become more real to me. Part of that new and improved sense of mortality has been that I find more and different things remind me of it.
I have been surprised, however, to discover I am not disturbed by this keener sense of a coming end. I always thought I would be disturbed to become increasingly aware of my mortality as I grew older. Yet, so far at least, I am far more curious about my mortality than I am upset with it.
Perhaps that will change. It will be interesting to see if it does.
Suddenly, I wonder what my new neighbor would think if I told her she reminds me of death?
I reckon I’d better keep that thought to myself.