I’m getting ready to head out of the house and do my adulting for the day.
I have this mix of Pennywise, Bad Religion, Lagwagon, Social Distortion, and their contemporaries playing way louder than usual, all over the house, as I am the only one home.
I get dressed like I always do. I put on a pair of Volcom pants, a Bauhaus T-shirt, and my Converse.
Then, when it’s time to transform my bedhead into not that, I look up and see this old man looking back at me in the mirror.
And let me tell you, it’s kind of a lot to see and feel that. In my head, all morning, I’ve been a wiser, calmer, more confident and happier version of the person I was in my 20s; just a guy eating cereal, drinking coffee, surrounded by second wave punk.
I got so lost in that place, it was like a bucket of cold water when I saw … myself … almost 50 … just looking back at me. Like, “What’s up dude. I’m you.” Grey all through my beard, lines in my face, bags under my eyes even though I slept perfectly last night.
And I saw this look on my face, real quick, before I knew what was happening. It was this knowing look from me, who is almost 50, reminding me, who forgot he was almost 50, that, yes, you are almost 50, Wil. It’s so weird, this disconnect between my physical, chronological aging, and the way I feel inside of a body that’s probably about halfway through its existence on this planet.
Bad Religion still fucking slams, though.