This is my golden year. In some traditions when the year you were born coincides with your actual age, it is referred to as the “golden year.” Next month I will be 55 and, you guessed it, I was born in 1955.
But like most baby boomers, that number has no correlation to my self-perception. I am, in fact, wondering how a 32 year old man such as myself can actually have a 55th birthday.
This cognitive dissonance first surfaced about three years ago. My wife and I, with some friends, went to the Oakland Coliseum to see a Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young concert. Prior to the start, I stand up, look around and am amazed by the crowd. “Who are all these old people, and why do they like my music?”
