I recently completed sixty-three revolutions around the sun, which puts me three years past the threshold of what I used to consider as “old.” That bar was set when I was a young man of forty. Before that, forty was the age that I considered as the precipice. It was all downhill from there. Now I realize that “old” is really twenty years past whatever age I happen to be at the time.

Although denial is a big part of the aging process, I do have to admit that I have begun to experience some of the signs that I likely have far more days behind me than I do in front of me.

For instance, it is impossible for me to bend over – say to pull up my support socks – without emitting a series of guttural sounds. The first time this happened, I looked around to see if the ghost of my departed father was in the room with me. He used to make that same sound every time he bent over or got up out of his recliner. My mom used to call them “old man noises.” I’ve come to realize that this is only one of many different kinds of “old man noises.” They run the gamut to include snoring, farting, belching, yelling at the television, and less than congenial discourses with other drivers. It’s not that these sounds are exclusive to old men; young men make them as well. It’s that old men have fewer inhibitions when shooting this quiver of arrows and aim them indiscriminately at any target. Old men just don’t care anymore. We’ve lived long enough to have earned the right to be loud, disgusting, and rude.

The fact that we don’t care anymore is a good segway into my next point. A life sentence for murder doesn’t mean nearly as much to me as it does to a twenty-four-year-old, man-bun, skinny-jean-wearing, latte-drinking, gen x-er. He would do well to keep this in mind next time he wants to cut me off and take my parking spot at Wal-Mart.

A young person’s mind and body work in unison to scale mountains, cross oceans, and build cities. But there’s a growing disparity between mind and body as you age. My mind wants to run and jump; it wants to climb trees and splash in puddles. But my body says, “Oh look. It’s ten o’clock. Time for a nap before lunch.”

And speaking of lunch… When I was a young man in my teens and twenties, I could eat anything I wanted and as much as I wanted and it didn’t seem to have any effect on me. I never gained any weight except muscle mass. Now that I’m older, no matter what I eat or how little of it I eat, food has only two effects on me. It either turns into fat or it turns into fart. Often, it’s both. And there’s so much that I can’t eat at all; spicy foods, fried foods, dairy, carbs… that’s four of the major food groups right there!

Another interesting thing about getting old is that a good night’s sleep is something that we only dream about on those rare nights when we actually do sleep. And “sleep” has come to be understood as being those brief periods of inactivity between getting up to pee. If there was such a thing as the old fogies Olympics, I’m sure that I could walk away with at least a bronze medal in the night-time peeing event. And I’m not just referring to the number of times that I get up to pee every night, but the act of urinating changes drastically as a man ages. It’s a much more inspired experience. Young men just blast away with little regard for the creative process, but old men pee in Morse code (dots and dashes). One of these days I’m going to learn Morse code so I can find out what I’m saying when I urinate. I could be composing sonnets for all I know.

And then there’s the phenomenon of the “finicky follicles.” Although I may look like I have less hair than I used to as a young man (in my twenties I wore it practically down to my shoulders), I still have the same amount, it’s just showing up in the oddest of places. My ears used to be as hairless as a penny. Now, in the absence of proper grooming, it looks like I’m wearing ear muffs all year long.  My hair has disappeared almost entirely from its natural habitat on my scalp and has roamed far and wide in search of more fertile fields. When young people snicker and comment on my bald pate, I remind them that God doesn’t put marble tops on cheap furniture. It might not put them in their place, but it makes me feel classy.

I don’t want to make it sound like there’s not a positive side to getting old. There are some good things about it. As I alluded to above, there is a liberating feeling that comes with not caring what other people think about you. You don’t need to impress anyone when you’re old. You already know who your friends are. They’ve been with you for years. If they haven’t left you by now, they’re probably there to stay. And there’s no better way to start the morning than to sit on your front porch in your underwear, drinking coffee and laughing as the old biddy who lives next door hurriedly crosses the street when she takes her  Shih Tzu for a walk and tries to avoid eye contact.

Another great thing about getting old is the “senior discount.” Most businesses offer a senior discount, which becomes increasingly important as you move into that final stage of life known as the “fixed income.” I’ve reached that coveted “golden spot” in the senior lifecycle where I no longer must pull out my ID to prove my age and the cashier automatically applies the discount to my purchase. At first, I was insulted. Now I’m just grateful.

When it comes down to it, getting old is inevitable. There are billions of dollars being spent by people who are trying to avoid aging; all vain attempts to hold on to our youthful looks, vigor, and vitality. I say it is a gigantic waste. We should embrace our advanced years. Getting old isn’t easy, but we should wear our wrinkles, our scars, and our grey hairs as a badge of honor. We’ve earned them. Young people could not endure what we old folks have had to endure to get to where we are.

No matter what age you find yourself, everyone is getting older. So, enjoy it. Embrace it. Make the most of it. “Life is not eternal for anyone… At my age, a new year is a gift, a humble celebration, a new adventure, a beautiful journey, a moment of happiness. Let’s enjoy life together.” These words were spoken by Maria Branyas Morera of Catalonia, Spain. She should know what she’s talking about. Maria is the world’s oldest verified living person. On March 4^th she will turn 116 years young.