What a hormone-sodden wasteland is this middle time between youthful potential and what I hope will be circumspect old age. Everybody is racing to yoga class with their babies and their disposable coffeecups, believing that it all means something more than it has ever meant to anyone. How long does this silliness last? Must we all be swept in its wake? Is there any humor or grace at this stage?

Here's what I think: kids are the coolest ones among us. Especially the most clueless of the tweens; the late bloomers. The ones who have no desire or capability of dating, but who have the energy to shriek in public, and the focus not to realize that they are doing so. I know that these people are likely to be self-conscious and miserable (I can only speak from my own experience, of course), yet they have untold stores of potential and scads of malleability . They have not yet gained enough experience to believe that they can control their environs. Life just rolls over them and they live out each day like a fencing match. Which brings me to more spite toward my own kind. When you get to be my age, you start to believe that you have control over things and that you can create future happiness for yourself. So you go for it! You run yourself ragged and get to the front of the line! Then you get old anyway and maybe realize that you were an annoying dunderhead who never considered the damn lilies.