(no subject)
Why am I older than the Eleventh Doctor? There is just something fundamentally wrong with that. I mean, I'm almost exactly ten years younger than Tennant, I wasn't expecting this to happen for awhile yet.
One of those odd things about life, though... when you start realizing you're older than famous/influential people. I'm older than several A-list actors these days. How will it be when I'm older than, say, the President? Or my own pastor?
Makes me think about what C.S. Lewis said about time, and how we don't belong in it. If we were creatures of time, we should not find growing older to be so fundamentally weird. I mean, when you're a kid, time makes some sense. You're older and smarter (hopefully) and taller and stronger every year, as you should be. But then you hit that adult stage, and it's like the world says, "right, moving on without you," and even looking in the mirror seems a bit of a surprise. My young cousin Alex is getting married next year, and two of my oldest friends have children. It won't be so long now until my dad retires, and I'm having to come to grips with the thought that, while they're still in decent health, his parents may be nearing the last years of their lives. (Oh, not yet, Grandma and Grandpa! You're so awesome!) Everything is just sliding away. I have to find the balance of looking forward and back, just to keep a hold on things.
(Ahaha, you know what would be weird? If Doctor Who brought Jenny back. Georgia Moffett's twenty-three. The mind boggles. But, you know, I suppose that sort of thing would happen pretty regularly among a species that a) lives for hundreds or thousands of years, and b) is, for all intents and purposes, capable of aging backwards.)
It is cold and wet and blah out. I think I'll stay inside. And perhaps make some tea. (ooo, tea.)
One of those odd things about life, though... when you start realizing you're older than famous/influential people. I'm older than several A-list actors these days. How will it be when I'm older than, say, the President? Or my own pastor?
Makes me think about what C.S. Lewis said about time, and how we don't belong in it. If we were creatures of time, we should not find growing older to be so fundamentally weird. I mean, when you're a kid, time makes some sense. You're older and smarter (hopefully) and taller and stronger every year, as you should be. But then you hit that adult stage, and it's like the world says, "right, moving on without you," and even looking in the mirror seems a bit of a surprise. My young cousin Alex is getting married next year, and two of my oldest friends have children. It won't be so long now until my dad retires, and I'm having to come to grips with the thought that, while they're still in decent health, his parents may be nearing the last years of their lives. (Oh, not yet, Grandma and Grandpa! You're so awesome!) Everything is just sliding away. I have to find the balance of looking forward and back, just to keep a hold on things.
(Ahaha, you know what would be weird? If Doctor Who brought Jenny back. Georgia Moffett's twenty-three. The mind boggles. But, you know, I suppose that sort of thing would happen pretty regularly among a species that a) lives for hundreds or thousands of years, and b) is, for all intents and purposes, capable of aging backwards.)
It is cold and wet and blah out. I think I'll stay inside. And perhaps make some tea. (ooo, tea.)