My younger brother is now older than me.

As little sense as this makes, anyone with brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces or nephews surely understands. At some point in life we all stop aging – if only in our mind. With my brother’s birthday this month he is now chronologically older than my mind will ever accept me to be. There is no way I am as old as my younger brother’s Arizona driver’s license reports.

Granted, I’m not ready to get old. But somewhere along the line we begin looking at ourselves in the mirror at little less often, and when we do, spend less time examining our face for wrinkles. I’ve even begun to believe the entire coordination of my eyes weakening and the advent of a few more wrinkles each year are nature’s way of helping us manage the shock.

As time moves along many of us create a perception of what age we “really are” in our minds. This age – generally younger than our chronological age – is where we feel comfortable. It is the skin we relate to the best. I feel it, even today, as I look across the living room and realize my wife and I are living with teenagers.

“Whose teenagers are those?” I said to her the other night.

Across the room our son and daughter sat with the television on and each absorbed in a laptop and texting on a cell phone, respectively. Looking back at my wife I feel as if we’re still essentially the same two people who hooked up during our first semester of college. In my mind we’ve not changed all that much. Sure, we’ve more responsibilities – and more people to be responsible for – but we’re still the essentially the same two people who couldn’t get enough of each other decades ago. There are times I feel like we’re just playing grown-ups and forever will be sitting at the children’s table at family gatherings.

Nature is funny about this. I’ve a good friend who, now in his 90s, is a young and vibrant as anyone I’ve ever known. He’s the epitome of a gentleman and as comfortable in his skin as anyone you’ll ever meet. I don’t know what age he thinks he is, but I’ll tell you it in no way matches his birth certificate. Sitting with him recently I was taken by the sparkle in his eyes and the power of his warm smile as it grew across his face. Just sharing the room with him made me feel better.

I’ve going to a wedding next month where I’ll see nieces and nephews arrive driving their own cars. Some will even bring dates, spouses and children. This, no matter how much I accept it, does not compute with my internal perception of time. To me, they are still just kids. Always will be.

If indeed age is a state of mind — a feeling of being comfortable in your own skin regardless of what the calendar dictates — then I’m OK. What I need to do now, however, is to get my body to buy into the concept and get with the program.

(Woolsey is the publisher of the Times-Georgian. You can reach him at inplainview@charter.net.)