Later in the day, teen-agers and young adults will appear, and heads will turn. I say to myself, as elderly men walk shirtless along the beach, not worried, it seems, by revealing how far years and genes have taken them. Youth is beauty, and beauty is youth. I am aware, of course, that my own lithe days are past. Middle age seems to be that season when one is just a diet away from regaining the form of youth, but one also gauges the likelihood that sag will prevail and discovers that sag isn't such a big deal after all.
Middle age is an odd season, both traumatic and peaceful at the same time.
Back home, where everything is commerce and career, middle age seems defined by one's remaining chances to attain wealth and security. The physical reality underlying age is manifest. We start firm and grow soft. We start thin and, except for a few, grow not-thin. We can dye our hair, wear caps to cover bald spots and choose our clothing carefully, but in the end, artifice must give way to acceptance.