A Dancer Looks At Forty
The cannons don't thunder there's nothin' to plunder I'm an over forty victim of fate; arriving too late Arriving too late. ~ Jimmy Buffett lyrics from A Pirate Looks At Forty photo courtesy of aging booth A few weeks ago I celebrated my fortieth birthday over dinner with my long-time friend Sam and his family. Sam and I met when I was twenty, and to tell you the truth, I don’t feel Sam and I are all that different from then. I don’t share Buffett’s assertion of being a victim of fate. Granted, my body tells me differently. The soreness I feel in the morning after a full day of rehearsals, the absolute necessity to warm-up before rehearsal to keep my back from protesting, and my progressively graying hair on the sides of my head (remember the editor in old Spider Man comics) all testify to the fact that my body is moving on whether my mind and heart realize it or not. However, my impression of what forty would feel like back when I was a teen bears no resemblanc...