Nearly Bird

Dearest Rachel –

This is hardly groundbreaking news – especially to you, of all people – but very few of us, once we reach a certain point in our adult life, care to admit to our advancing age, even to ourselves. We would prefer to be, and act, like someone considerably younger than ourselves; as if we didn’t have enough time to enjoy that age when we were at it (which, to be fair, is a reasonable basis for doing so – there’s a reason why maxims like “youth is wasted on the young” come into parlance, after all).

I’m not about to claim to be an exception to that rule, especially after the things I’ve put myself through in order to literally be fit for the dating scene; an aspect of life that I was more than willing to relegate to those several decades younger than myself. But since you’ve left me behind here, and I can’t countenance spending the next few decades alone, I’m doing what I feel I have to in order to correct this situation. And while the process is hardly enjoyable (as you’ve heard from me far too many times for your liking, I’d wager), the results certainly have their benefits. I feel like someone twenty years younger, with energy (at times) to match, and strength that’s quite likely more than I’ve ever had in my life; certainly more than I’ve ever bothered to try to measure. I know how old I am, of course, but I imagine I’m considerably younger than that, thanks to this regimen I’ve endured.

That said, it’s discouraging to see footage of myself in a stiff breeze, and realize that, for all that I might feel like I’m in my thirties, I’m starting to look like your ‘uncle,’ Senator Bernie, who’s looked like he’s eighty since he was thirty. I could adopt a New Yawk accent and start shouting about ‘oligarchs,’ and I might be able to pass for him. Not that I’d really want to.

But let me set aside any thoughts of what I look like – thankfully, since most of what I find cringeworthy about my appearance isn’t even visible in a mirror (and I don’t look at those all that often, as you’d probably be more than willing to confirm) – and let’s move on to the advantages, comparatively, to accepting one’s age. The fact is, there’s a certain point at which you feel like you’ve seen or heard it all. You haven’t, of course – there’s a whole world out there, after all, that’s still fairly unfamiliar – but it seems like even the ‘new’ stuff is a remix of the old. Everything is a combination of the same old tropes that have seemingly existed since time immemorial, down to the individual jokes and phrases. Granted, some folks might find that boring and repellent, but there are those who find safety in predictability. That predictability – and the ability to see it – affords one a certain apparent wisdom that comes from age and experience: “oh, I know what’s coming next” based on what’s been said or happened before. While I’m not keen on accepting the aging of my physical self, I can embrace – eagerly – my mental age, and the appearance of wisdom that comes with being able to expect the next line in the script we as humans follow.

But this morning, I was thrown for a loop by a phrase I’d never heard before. I’d woken up at what I consider to be a ridiculous hour – which is to say, before five in the morning – but since I knew that “Lee”s job requires her to be there at 6:30, I decided to send her my usual morning greeting, along with an apology that this might wake her up too early, and that I wasn’t likely to be up if she were to reply to it, as I was going to try to go back to sleep (hoping she would understand). Not only was she understanding about it (“Get more sleep. Have a great day!”), but in her thank you message, she referred to me as “my nearly bird.”

That’s a series of words that I’ve never seen together, but that make perfect sense in context. You know better than anyone that I consider myself a morning person only out of necessity – while I’m most definitely not a night owl, I’m not one to enthusiastically leap out of bed, ready to take on the day first thing. Getting up to go to work always required the assistance of a screaming alarm, and it was often only sheer willpower that kept me from hitting the snooze button a time or two. For all that I’ve developed into an early riser (especially in comparison to you and Daniel), I wouldn’t truly consider myself an “early bird.”

But a “nearly bird”? Oh, I can relate to that; you want to (indeed, in many cases, it’s an actual need to) get a jump on the day, but you just don’t start your day with ‘nearly’ that kind of energy. It’s why coffee is in such common usage; it’s meant to stimulate (and simulate) that kind of behavior when it doesn’t come naturally. You’d think there’d be a phrase to describe us folk, trying desperately to be punctual and attentive first thing in the morning, but while everyone knows what a ‘night owl’ is, its counterpart doesn’t have such a universal moniker – especially among us who can only aspire to be the opposite of the night owl (or, in my case, only making a half-hearted attempt at it). This phrase, however unfamiliar to me (and I can’t get over how it is that), is a perfect descriptor – aside from the fact that ‘nearly’ and ‘early’ don’t rhyme. The pun is obvious in written text; not so much when spoken aloud. But I get it, and I like it.

Now, there is one more part of this that comes as unexpected, and I’ll go into it more if things continue to develop between “Lee” and I, but I’ll direct your attention to the choice of article for the moment. I’m not going to claim that it means anything for now, but I’ll admit to a slight flutter at seeing it. Still, I’m too enthused at the sight of a phrase that is equal parts completely alien and utterly logical to me to dwell too much on the two letters in front of it for now.

Until I can make more of that, though, I’ll have to ask that you continue to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.