Forty years ago, on June 20, 1969, at 2:00 in the afternoon, I first came into this world, probably kicking and screaming, but not going anywhere fast. Since then, I sometimes whether I have gone anywhere ever.

When I was a teenager, one of my older friends turned 40. I could hardly believe it.

“You’re 40?!” I said.

“Yes.” She nodded.

I remember, I thought that was so old. And since then, from time to time, I myself have felt old. But what does that mean, “old”?

“Old” means obsolete, yesterday’s relic.

“Old” means tired and broken down, worn by time.

“Old” means showing the signs of age, wrinkles around the eyes, a paunch on the belly, love handles hanging off the sides.

“Old” means disease, closeness to death, a course of medications to take every day, the fear of time itself, keenly aware that time is escaping.

Why?