40 years ago I was 11.
40 years before that was 1938.
10 year old me has more in common, temporally, with 1938 than with modern me. OK, just a simple math thing, right? But this is where it gets weird, for me anyway. Even though I was arguably more aware during the leadup to Now, things of today feel more alien to me than things from the late 30s/early 40s–when my dad didn’t even exist.
I don’t normally notice it until I’m faced with something dating from about WWII until the mid-60s. Getting up close to the old space hardware at Kennedy Space Center, for instance, or maybe just rummaging through some seriously old stuff at an estate sale. And then it hits me like a truck that I am really uncomfortable in my own skin, almost to the point of wondering how I got to be a middle-aged dude, well into the 21st century.