I used to laugh at those TikTok videos where a fellow my age would jump off a kitchen counter, hop out of the back of his pickup, or side-vault over a fence. The video would freeze on him lying in a crumpled heap while his spirit stood nearby, looking down at the wreckage as if to say, “Well, that didn’t go according to plan.”

I always thought they were hilarious because they were so ridiculous. Besides, I was convinced those things only happened to other people.

Then one morning, I made the mistake of jumping out of bed.

Not climbing out of bed, not easing myself to the floor like a sensible man who has lived long enough to know better. No, I jumped out of bed like I was still twenty-five and had somewhere important to be.

The next thing I knew, I was standing over my own body.

There I was, sprawled on the bedroom floor in a position that suggested I’d lost an argument with gravity. Meanwhile, my spirit was staring down at me with the same expression I’d worn while watching all those TikTok videos.

It was at that exact moment I realized those videos weren’t nearly as funny as I’d thought.

The only difference was that the guys online usually had someone recording the whole thing, but I didn’t. If I’d had a camera running, I probably would have watched it a hundred times myself, just as soon as I recovered enough to laugh instead of groan.

Getting older has a peculiar way of teaching humility. One day you’re laughing at people who discover gravity the hard way, and the next day you’re introducing yourself to the same club.

I still watch those videos now and then, but I don’t laugh quite as hard anymore. After all, I know the ghost standing over the body. He’s me.