Feeling It

It might be the fact that I'm surrounded mostly—although not exclusively—by twentysomethings up at the J-school.

It might be the fact that I'm spending countless hours riding the rails and buses of the New York City transit system.

It might be the fact that with my ever-present joint pain, it takes me a good half-hour to work out the kinks—mostly in my fingers, but also in my knees and feet—when I first get out of bed in the morning.

It might be that I am suddenly back in the throes of cascading deadlines, one after the other after the other.

It might be the accumulated stress of the past year-plus or the anticipated stress of the next four months.

Whatever it is, I am feeling, for the first time in my life, old.

Physically old, I mean. Not I-remember-back-before-there-were-ATMs old.

Creaky old.

Tired old.

Don't-want-to-go-out-in-today's-10-degree-weather old.

Craving-a-nap-in-the-middle-of-the-day old.

Before-my-time old.

But—sorry, Zach—still not wow-I-could-really-use-a-good-game-of-bridge old.