If you are young or youngish, don’t read any more of this crap. This is a lament, not a rant, and its subtleties can only be understood by someone well over the legal drinking/ranting age.

This place is called The Aging Man for a reason. It’s not titled The Old Man. Or The Soon to be Dead Man. Its about aging and coming to grips with a force of nature bigger and larger than life and the universe and all of existence. It’s a great place for hyperbole, too.

See, when you’re old, you are done aging. Aging is the process of growing old. When you’re old, you’re old, and the process is over. Done. Kaput. Finite, the French kind.

At birth we are given a symbolic, mythical gas tank. It isn’t tangible, but its real. From birth to about age 30, the gas tank is full. It is loaded at birth with hope, promise, happiness, invincibility, and similar crap. This full tank of crap fuels our life as we mature and learn what life is really about, and what our futures will be like. We have enough gas to make several detours and be able to backtrack to where we started, and start again.

At age 30, the gas starts to run out. We sense it as we struggle with careers, family, fitness, all the important things we care about. Since we have no gas gauge, we don’t care, yet.

By age 60, it takes a little finagling, choking to start us every morning and we sometimes sputter at high speeds. This is when we begin to wonder what the heck is going on, and the gas gauge becomes visible. This is when we start to really feel the process.

We still have plenty of time and gas before we get old, but with each year the vision of the gas gauge gets clearer and clearer, and with each year that vision gets bleaker and bleaker.

And then we get old. Finally. The tank is nearly empty, just vapors left. Fumes. It’s hard to start in the morning, we can’t go fast, and we can’t go long distances. Things like grand-kids and our favorite team winning the Superbowl give us a half gallon or so of refill, but we see it, we know, it, and we learn to cherish it. We learn, too, no matter what we did the tank is empty with no gas station in site. Or in existence. The only comfort? We are not alone in the process. It happens to everyone.

It’s 2am in the morning and this is what I write? It might be time to change the title of this place.