When I was six years old, the aging process was a bone of contention for me. Back then, I had amusing concepts about growing old. My childhood naiveté led me to believe I would be a mature adult at age 16. I thought middle age would be 21. And at 33, not only would I qualify for Social Security, I would require someone to help me across the street.

As I reminisce about my childhood misconceptions about getting older, I was in a state of denial. Over the years, things hav...