I am in fact old, there’s no ‘maybe’ about it. That is fine. I think of the line from a T.S. Eliot poem that goes,

“I grow old…I grow old… I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.”