So, do you know about the whole drone debacle? Me neither. I refuse to watch TV news and I don’t subscribe to the National Enquirer. But a member of my family who shall remain unnamed is obsessed with the idea that mysterious drones are appearing everywhere from outer space, although it’s unclear what he thinks we should do about it.
When I was at his house, I was forced to watch 127 hours of so-called news coverage of these mysterious unidentified drones, which until that moment I didn’t know were a problem. OK, maybe it just seemed like 127 hours, but the nice thing about being old is this: I don’t care.
Young, hip, slim, attractive, fashionable people can’t imagine a fate worse than being old. I’m sure I was one of them, back when I wore white lipstick and miniskirts so short that, if I dropped a pencil, I had to just keep walking, because there was no way I could ever bend down to retrieve it.
So it was a big surprise to me when I actually woke up one day, realized I actually was old and discovered it’s really not bad. For example, I don’t have to stay up nights worrying about global warming, because I’ll be dead before the beach house gets flooded.
Kids, that’s your problem to solve. Or not. I’ll be floating around in some sort of cosmic configuration by then.
Younger people can fret and worry about supposed sightings of drones from outer space. To me, it really doesn’t matter. I figure that one-third of these sightings are of secret U.S. military aircraft that they don’t want us to know about, one-third of the photos are doctored and one-third are promulgated by people who’ve insisted for decades that they were abducted by aliens.
In any case, they don’t seem to have anything to do with my life, so until one crashes into my front window, I’m just going to keep reading my email and looking for a new blender.
And allow me to point out that most of the sightings of these mysterious lights in the sky came from observers in New Jersey.
I’m not going to insult New Jersey, but let me just add this: It’s New Jersey. And cannabis is legal there.
So the No. 1 thing I will say about becoming an old broad is this: I don’t worry nearly as much as I once did.
I know some older people who worry more: About their health, about safety and so forth. But not me.
Six years ago, I was stunned to be diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer that was supposed to kill me in a year. I had no clue this was coming. That’s the thing about worrying. You always end up worrying about the wrong thing.
You can’t stop fretting about how to get your dog to stop peeing in the house and then, boom: You’re going to die. All those hours you wasted worrying about that stupid dog.
Once I was facing almost certain death, I was able to let go of all other concerns. Everyone was terrified of COVID, but not me. I could only worry about one deadly illness at a time, and I already had it. Time to have a glass of wine and watch me some TV.
Neighbors on my block were up in arms about the fate of street trees. I like trees, but I couldn’t get interested.
My only concern at that moment was trying to finish off my travel bucket list, and I was traveling like crazy, even though I was sick as a dog from various forms of chemo, radiation and such. Then, sitting on a bench in the Galapagos Islands, I had an epiphany. I decided not to die.
I came home and started reading, reading and more reading, looking for ways to beat back my cancer. No matter how wacky the treatment seemed, I tried it. I threw it all on the wall like spaghetti, to see what would stick. Cannabis therapy? Sure, why not? Meditation? OK. Keto diet? Fine. Laughter therapy? Sounds good to me.
Eventually, I found enough ways to fight my cancer myself, and now it’s not growing anymore. I can’t say things will always be that way, but I’m not going to drop dead tomorrow, so I can go about my life, gimpier but less worried.
They just found a giant new breed of man-eating shark off the coast of California? I don’t care. I never go in the water anyway. It’s too cold, plus I just made that up.
If I can’t do anything about it, I’m just not going to worry about it. That’s my new mantra and it works for me. Let’s see how it goes as we enter this new year.
As Alfred E. Neuman, poster child of MAD Magazine used to say, “What, me worry?”