If history is the best teacher, then recent history is teaching me that I am getting old. To wit, in the past month alone, the following events have transpired:

• I hiked Bradbury Mountain with my husband and children. At the summit, we sat down on a rock to enjoy the scenery and share some snacks. To prepare for the downward march, I spent approximately 30 seconds trying to figure out how I would stand up.

• I took two Motrin immediately after a run.

• I almost tripped into a pool. I was standing still next to it, but I was wearing heels and my ankles were tired.

• I was out for dinner with an old friend when she stood up to greet and chat with a fellow diner. She brought me into the conversation as if I should have recognized him. I looked up, shook his hand, and smiled vacantly while announcing “I’m so sorry but I have no memory of who you are.”

• I baked a banana bread and forgot it was in the oven until I smelled the bread burning.

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• I turned on the Food Network because I wanted Ina Garten’s voice as soothing background noise.

• I heard a couple was planning on having dinner at approximately 8 p.m. that evening, which I described to myself, in my head, as “very European.”

• I spent the entire month in some state of fatigue.

• I participated in a conversation focused entirely on the quality of my sleep the previous night.

• I told my son I couldn’t play catch with him because I was too tired.

• I went outside and the first thing I did was look to the sky to determine whether it looked like rain.

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• I participated in a conversation focused entirely on the weather.

• A traffic jam ruined one entire day.

• A colleague handed me a one-page letter for my review. I reached for my reading glasses, which I had purchased from Rite Aid.

• I sent a text message that ended with :).

• I apologized that I don’t know how to get emoticons onto my phone.

• I inadvertently updated my Facebook status more than a dozen times. I still don’t know how I did that.

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• When I discovered that I had inadvertently updated my Facebook status more than a dozen times, I felt betrayed by my phone. I remain worried I will never trust the device again.

• I texted my mother to let her know I had just sent her an email.

• I went into a bookstore and bought a book.

• I came home from the grocery store grumbling about the quality of the produce.

• I dog-eared the pages of a catalogue that contained items I liked.

• I asked someone what Snapchat is.

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• I asked someone else what Snapchat is.

• I Googled various hashtags I saw on Instagram, looking for a definition.

• I told three different people that I was thankful I was married because my self-confidence could not withstand online dating.

• I handed my phone to my daughter so she could fix the game my son was playing.

• I tried to stay up for the finale of “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.” I almost made it.

• When rumors broke that Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith are divorcing, I thought about how much I liked him in “Fresh Prince of Bel Air.”

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• I went to the dermatologist so she could check my moles.

• I went to the dentist so he could check my gum lines.

• I had two separate conversations about Botox.

• I considered asking for a refund after I got my hair colored and came home to find two grey hairs just north of my forehead.

• I went to the beach and considered leaving because of all the tattoos.

• I used the fact of my age alone to bolster the credibility of my opinion.

• I made a 36-entry list of clues I am getting older.

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Abby Diaz grew up in Falmouth and lives there again, because that’s how life works. She blogs at whatsleftover.com. Follow Abby on Twitter: @AbbyDiaz1.


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