Getting older

He says hi, probably because he considers me to be an old, long not seen friend. Or maybe he is just curious what has become of me.
I don`t really feel I know anything about this partially bald man in wrinkled clothes from a long, hot day; fine lines carved in his face in the corners of his eyes, distinguished grey  at his temples and around his ears.
He looks like an adult, a dad, a someone in an office. Still there is something from the boy he used to bein his appearance.

I wonder if I look as old as he does.
It is hard to believe I`m forty... still only fortytwo, not turning fortythree untill September.

The way I feel, it`s hard to believe there`s not a younger me somewhere out there: A me still slim, fit, ripped jeans and cheeky T-shirts.
It`s the enticing past. A past even better than what it actually was. I know I often look at myself in younger years through pink shades, but I like the idea of it being nothing but good times.

I believe it`s like that for all of us. We wish to go back in time, to a time when we were happy. Or more correctly:  time we imagine we were happier than we are today. We tend to forget what hard work it is to be young.
Some times I can`t stand the thought of not being young anymore. I don`t feel much different, and some times, when I pass a mirror and get a glimpse of myself, I wonder how, what, who and when it happened. Why didn`t anyone tell us we would feel exactly the same now as we did when we were eighteen?
Not that it would matter any: we probably wouldn`t believe them.

I thought that when I turned forty I would have... settled down more, in a way.
You know: live a content and boring life. Staying at home every night, never fall in love, and be satisfied living that kind of life.

Then again...: being settled and living that boring, predictable life makes me capable of making things happen. I travel where and how I want to, I can afford to dress how I want (and I am financially comfortable enough to dress down; cheap and out of fashion, if I please), I am now able (timewise, moneywise and familywise) to take riding lessons for my driver`s lisence for heavy motorcycle, I can buy a motorbike which is actually in an ok con  dition, I can go for a walk at any hour of the day without telling anyone or explaining myself to anybody.

I have become a woman who flips the pillow several times during night, so I can sleep on the cool side. I have reached the point in life when I critically measure my "lovehandles", wondering if I should leave them alone, or pick up on the challenge to get rid of (most of) them.
I read my life in my scars and imperfections and wonder if I would want them to be gone.

Regardless of everything: Deep inside I still think exiting things will happen, though.
You never know...