I’m Not Complaining (Just Misunderstood)
A comedic monologue with heart.

(Lights up on an older person—maybe in their 60s or 70s—standing center stage. They speak directly to the audience, full of confidence, holding a cane they don’t quite need, and a coffee mug they absolutely do.)

You know, people always ask me,
“Hey, how’s it feel gettin’ older?”
And I say, “Well… it’s like wakin’ up in a body that’s been lightly pre-owned by a rodeo clown.”
Which is to say: magnificent. And a little squeaky.

Now, I ain’t complainin’.
Complainin’ is for people with time and too much ungratefulness in their dietary.
No, me? I’m celebratin’ the maturity of my exoskeleton.

Sure, things hurt. My knees sound like Rice Krispies in the microwave.
And yeah, sometimes I go into a room and forget why I entered.
But that just gives me time to appreciate the room. You know, its ambidexterity.

But here’s what I’ve learned:
If you don’t prepare your soul while your body still works semi-normal,
You’ll end up bitterer than a grapefruit on judgment day.

See, I’ve met old folks who got joy just radiating out of their face holes.
They’re grateful. Still prayin’. Still servin’.
Then I’ve met some who are mad at the whole world just ‘cause their hips make left turns without askin’.

And I decided—I wanna be the first kind.
The kind that wakes up and says,
“Thank you, Lord, for breath and oatmeal and the ability to still remember where I put my socks.”

Even if I only find one.

‘Cause look—God don’t expect us to run marathons in our twilight seductions.
He just wants us to be faithful.
To love people. Pray for ‘em. Smile when we don’t feel like it.
And maybe sit still long enough to hear Him whisper in our spinal cord.

So yeah. That’s my advice.
Start now.
Be joyful. Be gracious. Be… what’s the word… oh yeah—intentional.
(Or interdimensional. One of those.)

And if you see me walkin’ funny, don’t you dare feel sorry.
I ain’t limping—I’m testifying.

(They raise their mug in salute, proud and grinning. Lights fade.)