I don't know why this is crossing my mind at the moment, but I'll be hitting the big 4-5 in October.

As in, 45 years old.

Now, why am I even contemplating this? October is a long way off. Or is it? Time flies when you're ... approaching half of age 90. Sigh.

But really, it's just a number, right? I mean, why dwell on the fact that in just over two months I'll ... be ... 45 ... years old.

Now am I going to be mature about this or wallow in midlife crisis? Am I going to just deal with it or buy a red sports car and run off with a blonde woman young enough to be my ... niece?

No. I will be a man about this. I won't obsess that I've never been to Argentina or thrown myself out of an airplane skydiving. (OK, I want to go to Argentina someday but, really, I have no desire to go skydiving. And I never will, ever.)

I'm not going to acknowledge that I've never been a father and probably never will be (that's what friends with kids are for: I'm quite happy to be "Uncle Steve" and leave it at that). I won't think about a former co-worker who packed it all in and started a new life in Switzerland.

This isn't the first time I've pondered aging. My wake-up call to creeping decrepitude actually came 11 years ago, in Miami. I was there with friends — all of us were in our mid-30s — and we wrangled door passes to what was then the hottest, most exclusive nightclub in the city. It didn't even open until 11 p.m. We decided to "nap" at 9 p.m. and get up and go out later. But as they say about the best-laid plans ...

At 10-something at night, I called my friend's room. "Go out at this time of night? Are we nuts? I'm sleepy." Scary thing was, he agreed.

So much for partying with Prince and Madonna.

It was at that moment I came to the conclusion I was Officially Old. Or maybe just sensible. Had we gone to that club, I would have probably lasted 20 minutes, before being driven out by the pounding beat of You-Call-This-Music? What-Are-These-Kids-Listening-To-These-Days?

Speaking of, I have no idea who half the artists are on the Grammy Awards anymore. Fergie? Wasn't she Duchess of York?

Then again, who am I to complain? Tom Cruise is 45; so is "Joanie Loves Chachi" actor Scott Baio, who is chronicling his passage into middle age for all the world to see in a new reality show titled — I kid you not — "Scott Baio is 45 ... And Single."

So things could be much, much worse.

It's the milestones that get to me; the sober realization that things which seemed like yesterday actually happened way, way back. I saw "Star Wars" in the theater — 30 years ago. I saw my first Broadway show, "Chapter Two" by Neil Simon — 30 years ago. I went on my first plane ride, to Arizona with my best high school friend, in 1980. As in, 27 years ago.

Well, so much for math. As they say, age is just a state of mind, or, as the old jokes goes, consider the alternative.

It's the mature thing to do, after all.

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Stephen Kopfinger is a Sunday News staff writer. Contact him at skopfinger@lnpnews.com or at 291-8799. blog comments powered by Disqus