By Ian Hochberg
His once blonde hair was pewtering into bifocaled grey that left him wondering if real love, for
the first time, would be able to find her way to him, since he was no longer young.
He decided to employ G-d as his matchmaker, since looking for romance kept it away.
He was aware of the young mother-to-be in his yoga class, knowing his child bearing days were beyond and far behind him.
She could have been his daughter, so young was she. He saw the next generation that he helped create, creating the next generation after, and he missed the act and pre-occupation of it all.
Social media seemed to be a cycloning whirlwind that he was expected to ride, bronco.
He was taunted to Autobahn on the information speedway faster than his 4 cylinder could go …. and remembered that the world spun perfectly in balance without it.
A few wise men of his vintage reminded him that his best marketing tool was himself. The letter writing art was becoming so obscure that by doing this, he stood out.
His remedy for strangling frustration when stilled in beltway parking lots and at red lights was to blow bubbles. Perhaps it might amuse others nearby. It helped him believe Buddha was smiling and laughing with him.
Now there was time. There were closets to fill with bright colors. There was rest to make up from the sleepless years of scrambling.
He wondered what lay ahead for him. Day by day, he began to find out.