We used to sell flowers and knick-knacks at traffic lights, sometimes standing on the center island, like homeless people do. One day I was dropped off at a particular location somewhere in Chicago, a left turn signal under a section of the L tracks. For some reason this particular morning I was thinking about this process, the gradual change in the way we see and look and things, and I resolved to stay conscious and aware of the change in my perception of surroundings I was going to be inhabiting for several hours.
As I began my shift, I carefully took mental note of the complete unfamiliarity of my little area. Each time I walked up and down my island, I tried to perceive the change in the appearance that had taken place in the objects around me over the last couple of minutes. I was in fact able to savor and enjoy the process of this change, which in reality was not a change in my surroundings, but a change in me, a change in my brain.
Something that seems related to me is the question: when do we decide we're going to dress like an old person? I think we all know what they dress like; we have no problem recognizing the native seniors of an area, decked out in their typical plumage of crooked sunglasses, mismatched sweater vests and plaid shirts, and shabby stretch pants. But at what point do we actually decide that it's a good thing to get up in the morning and put ON these clothes?
The strange thing is, dress code for seniors has been essentially the same for the last 60 years. I'm 54; all the septuagenerians that were around when I was 30 are probably dead now. But somehow, miraculously, a new crop of seniors is cavorting around, wearing the same clothes their previous generations did!
