Suzy was having trouble with her iPad, and in a moment of ultimate frustration, she handed the problem over to me. Usually a big mistake. Now, chronologically and technologically speaking, I am still firmly anchored in the 20th century. But with the guidance of a patient Apple tech, we made steady progress. In the end, my primary contribution to saving the day was simply being kind to the talented person who took over the screen remotely. I was tickled—not just by the fix, but by the quiet satisfaction of playing a part in solving a modern mystery.
The whole episode got me thinking about the way time works on us. Technology has a habit of making us feel our age, yet life frequently offers little trapdoors back into youth if we’re willing to step through them. I remembered my forties, when I used to jog. I was almost always at the very back of the pack, but out on that pavement, breathless but moving, I felt decades younger than the number on my driver’s license. Over the years, whenever I’ve managed to think, act, or feel younger than my years, it has brought an unmistakable, unprompted joy. By contrast, “acting my age”—wearing the heavy coat of dignity and solemnity—has rarely made me want to do cartwheels.
Perhaps this minor technology crisis was less about a glitchy tablet and more about a quiet nudge. We tend to measure aging by what our bodies surrender; I can no longer step onto a football field or sink a jump shot, but those physical limits don’t have to claim the spirit. Age may be an unyielding tally of years, but youth is a posture of the heart. Maybe God occasionally sends us small reminders that staying young isn’t about outrunning time—it’s about refusing to let go of wonder, playfulness, and the simple willingness to act like a kid again.
Bravo, Webb. I love this one. I am that guy who follows my Daddy’s prompting, “Remember, Son, sometimes you have to pull both legs at exactly the same time.” It works wonders. Oh, how I love my Daddy. Thanks for this one.