OR, when lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed (kudos to Whitman)
I used to be bold. In fact, I’m quite sure I was seen by others to be assertive and confident. Now I aspire to the state of bold (check the map; it’s close to the hamlet of satisfaction), which is a whole lot less satisfying. Purple socks for now.
These days (link to lacuna in ‘about me'; still no elaboration), as I try to force myself to live outside of my head, I find I’m shimmying in the right general direction, but making only crablike progress.
[confession and aside: the title above is incorrect, since I already AM old, but I prefer the sound of a sentence beginning with ‘when’]
You see, I’ve lately come to appreciate my superhero attributes: I am usually anonymous and invisible. I guess, the more miles on your feet (and face), the less substantial you become. The process must have started quite early and I should have realized that when people were repeatedly introduced to me–because they honestly didn’t remember encountering me before–I had the invisibility gene. In short, it has become full-blown and I can wander about both real and virtual worlds without causing the merest ripple in the [cliché alert] fabric of space.
Some people might be offended by evidence of their diminishing status,
but it gives me a new kind of freedom. I am completely inoffensive and non-threatening: how could I be anything else?
[updates to follow]