For the first time in my life, I think I'm really beginning to feel my age. This may be psychological as my 61st birthday passed in September, but it sure seems like muscle and joint soreness have kicked up a notch and I can't tell you the last time I made it through the day without a short (10 minute) nap. And if you want to see what an old man looks like, you would look at me when I get out of bed in the morning. You would think I was 90.
Still, I don't count myself out of any physical activity, and am in fact quite healthy in general. My mind is not as pliable and quick to understand new concepts as it was, but I can still focus as well as ever (although that may not be saying much). So, no, as much as I may feel like I'm slipping, I am far from out of the game.
Aging is tricky. It's easy to blame failings on age, but that can also be a convenient excuse. Whenever I'm tempted to use "because I'm old" as an explanation I ask myself, is it really any different than before and often I find I may be romanticizing the past. And, even though I can't do everything I used to, behaving as if I could at least keeps the degradation from being self-fulfilling.
I now have two separate versions of my manuscript. One is not historically accurate but flows a little more smoothly and is more economical, the other is historically unimpeachable. I'm on the fence about which one to publish. I think the accurate one, since the work is very niche oriented, meaning the handful of people who eventually read it may be jarred by any inaccuracies. I remain disheartened by this last minute setback.
