Talking Story with Arlo: Talking Story with Arlo - A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss:

Talking Story with Arlo

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss:

A 58-Year-Old’s Tale of Survival in 2025

April 11, 2025

Hey there, folks, it’s Arlo, your 58-year-old beatnik buddy with a head full of stories and a pair of boots that won’t quit. Lately, I’ve been chewing on that old proverb, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

You know it—maybe from Bob Dylan’s restless growl, where it’s all about dodging roots and roaming free.

But for me, at 58, it’s less about rebellion and more about survival. In a world that’s sprinting ahead with iPhones, emails, and websites I can barely wrangle, I’m a slow-rolling stone trying to keep up.

Does that mean I’ve got moss creeping up my sides? Nah—it just means I’m still moving, even if the scenery’s blurring by faster than I can blink.

Let’s set the stage. I’m 58, gray as a winter sky, with a lifetime of grit under my belt. I’ve always been a mover—never one to sit still long enough for life’s dust to settle.

Back in the day, that meant hitching rides, scribbling poems in diner napkins, chasing sunsets. Now? It’s about keeping my head above water in a world that’s traded handshakes for hyperlinks.

Modernization’s got its claws out, and if I don’t roll with it, I’ll sink. The internet, text messages, emails—they’re not just toys for the young; they’re lifelines.

Trouble is, I’m a slow roller, and everything else is a freight train.

Take my latest tangle with the Department of Motor Vehicles. I needed to renew my license—simple, right? Used to be, you’d stroll into the office, crack a joke with the clerk, and walk out with a fresh card.

Not anymore. The local DMV shuttered its doors, and the nearest one’s a 100-mile haul to Barstow. Worse, they’re telling me, “Go to our website, Arlo. Do it online.” Online? I don’t have a computer.

Never learned the digital dance—my fingers are built for pens, not keyboards. I’ve got life in me, though—58 years of thinking, moving, surviving. But this? This feels like the world’s moving at warp speed while I’m chugging along on a rusty bike.

That’s the rub of being a rolling stone in 2025. The proverb says if you keep moving, you don’t gather moss—no baggage, no rust, just momentum.

But what happens when your roll’s more of a shuffle, and the ground beneath you’s a conveyor belt on overdrive?

I don’t have moss—not the kind that means I’m stuck or lazy. My moss would be giving up, letting the tech tide wash me under. Instead, I’m rolling, slow as I am, because stopping ain’t an option. Survival’s the game, and I’m still in it, even if I can’t keep pace with the whiz kids and their gadgets.

Let’s paint a picture. I’m in my little rented room, surrounded by books and a rotary phone that’s more decoration than tool. Outside, the world’s buzzing—texts pinging, emails flying, apps doing God-knows-what. I’ve got a flip phone, sure, but it’s a relic, good for calls and not much else.

Meanwhile, my landlord’s texting me about rent, the pharmacy’s emailing me about meds, and the DMV’s waving me toward a website I can’t even see.

It’s like I’m a stone rolling down a hill, but the hill’s turned into a racetrack, and I’m dodging Teslas instead of tumbleweeds.

Do I need to move this fast to survive? At 58, I’m wondering if slow and steady still wins—or if it just leaves you lapped.

But here’s the thing—I’m still rolling. Not fast, not flashy, but forward. That’s what the proverb’s about for me now: motion as life. Back in Dylan’s day, it was about freedom, shaking off the moss of convention.

In 2025, my moss isn’t roots or routine—it’s obsolescence. If I stop, the world won’t wait. It’ll bury me under passwords and pop-ups I don’t understand.

So I shuffle on, figuring it out as I go. Maybe I borrow a kid’s laptop at the library to wrestle that DMV site.

Maybe I scribble a note instead of texting and hope it gets there. It’s not graceful, but it’s movement, and that’s what keeps me alive.

Let’s zoom out to you, reading this. Maybe you’re 58 too, or maybe you’re younger, watching us old stones roll. Point is, the world’s speeding up for everybody. You’ve got your own DMV stories—bureaucracy gone digital, offices gone ghost. We’re all rolling stones now, forced to move or moss over.

For me it’s a stiffer challenge. I don’t have the tech chops, the quick thumbs, the bandwidth. But I’ve got grit, and I’ve got will. I can think, I can adapt—just not at Mach 5. Does that make me mossy? No way. It makes me human, still kicking in a world that’s forgotten slow.

Here’s a laugh to lighten the load. Picture me at that library laptop, squinting at the DMV site like it’s a Martian roadmap. The kid next to me—12, maybe—zips through his homework in five minutes, then leans over.

“Need help, grandpa?” I chuckle, hand him the reins, and he’s got my license renewed before I can say “far out.”

That’s 2025—my slow roll meets his rocket, and somehow, we both keep going. No moss on either of us, just different speeds.

So where’s that leave “A rolling stone gathers no moss”? For me, it’s a survival mantra. I don’t need to match the world’s pace—I just need to keep moving my way. I’m not running from roots or chasing horizons.

I’m rolling to stay in the game, dodging the moss of defeat.

Modernization’s a beast, with its iPhones and websites, but I’ll wrestle it with my flip phone and my stubborn stride.

Slow as I am, I’m still a stone in motion—and that’s enough to keep me breathing in 2025.

Keep rolling, friends, fast or slow—moss ain’t got us yet.

Groove is in the Heart - Arlo