“Where did it all go,” he asked, wincing slightly.
“What,” she replied. “Money? Time? This margarita?” his lifelong friend asked. They met in college many years ago. It would require a calculator app to determine the actual number. Suffice it to say there was a different Clinton in office when they first got drunk together.
He smiled softly. “Youth. I feel like I was twenty-one, like, twenty-one minutes ago.” He splashed in the water, looking around the pool. There were kids, teenagers, twenty-, thirty-, forty-somethings, fifty-, and sixty-somethings. “Aging is submissive by nature. It’s like you merge your young self with your old self in a continuous loop. It’s like a submissive merge—submerged, in a different sense. ”
“But we fight aging in our own way. Not just through eye creams and yoga mats. We counter it through participating in our lives. We don’t let someone tell us how we ‘should act’ or what we ‘should be doing’ at our ages.” She paused. “It is funny though to think about your generational tag and how it loses currency over the years. Remember when Generation X was the big thing?”
“True. It’s interesting how one is perceived as they age. You can see people treating you differently—if they bother to treat you at all. There is a fixed cost involved with getting older—invisibility and irrelevance.” He laughed. “Sorry, the more classes I take, the more I find myself adding MBA into my melancholy.”
“I think you have a PhD in that subject,” she smiled sympathetically.
“You know, honestly, I don’t want to be young again,” he pondered. “I just want to be relevant again.”
He pushed himself to the bottom of the pool and did a handstand.
Submerged, but not submissive.