I got on the elevator this morning with two of my colleagues. Both single, in their 20s, young enough to be my daughters (!), marriage, children and mortgages all still ahead of them. Dewy complexions, latest fashions, radiating the absolute confidence of youth. They gave me a glance & a perfunctory nod, but continued chattering about their BlackBerrys and data plans. It was like they were speaking a foreign language.
Once, I was like them. (OK, minus the BlackBerrys.) I know they would find it hard to believe, but some day, they too will be in their late 40s, tired, struggling with their weight and fine facial lines and grey hair, wondering how this happened.
I got off the elevator -- & almost ran into an elderly man, hobbling along slowly with the assistance of his cane.
Once, this man was young and handsome -- a varsity track star who became famous for dancing with a princess, went into politics and, briefly, was the prime minister of Canada. He recently celebrated his 80th birthday. (And he still goes to work.)
Some day, I, too may grow to be as old as he is.
And probably wish that I was in my 40s again.