Real ID a real pain

Not that I fly all that often, nor do I go to federal office buildings, but it’s time to prove who I am. It’s time to get my Real ID card.
Because I will likely be flying sometime this year, I decided it was time to jump into what certainly will be a frustrating, complicated and time-consuming task. After years of delay because of the COVID pandemic, the deadline is coming. As I googled the topic, my computer screen announced a date.
“May 7, 2025.”
That landed especially hard because, haha, that’s my birthday. At first I thought the computer knew this, and that the Real ID deadline is attached to individual birth dates and ages, and that the enforcement date is on a sliding calendar.
But no, by some strange twist of bureaucracy, the Real ID czars chose my birthday as the new date of enforcement.
According to the calendar, I have fewer than a hundred days to get ‘er done. It may take me every one of those days. They don’t make it easy.
I’d have to show up at the DMV with a few things to prove that I am, in fact, who I say I am, as if anyone would want to pretend to be this. The process would be easier if I were not such a procrastinating slacker, but here we are.
My passport is expired, and even if it weren’t, the photo was taken when I was bald from cancer treatment and doesn’t look like me. I could show my birth certificate instead, but the one I have doesn’t have the raised seal. I’ll need my Social Security card – who has those anymore? Catching up on all of these things will require that I navigate a hay maze of government offices and websites.
Is there any anxiety flare more predictable than the search for important documents? While plunging into boxes and files looking for my birth certificate, it occurred to me that I hadn’t laid eyes on the deed to my house or the title to my paid-off car. Where’d I stash them? I might need them for something else someday.
Why don’t the Real ID people accept as proof the other things bearing my name that are plentiful around here, like those advertising postcards from window replacement companies? I have tons of them. Also, come-ons from loan companies; they wouldn’t be offering me money if they didn’t trust me, would they?
While awaiting the arrival of my certified birth certificate (the first step in my long process), I’ve thought about how else I might prove who I am. I could show the photo of my inner knee during surgery to repair the torn meniscus. I could match that with the outside scar. Or maybe show the bills for that? How about bills from my children’s college tuition? I’d offer the kids and their grades as proof that I paid and they graduated. My Amazon account has those photos the delivery people take of packages they leave at my front door; those could be matched with my address. Or maybe they’d accept a clip of this newspaper column – no, that wouldn’t work. That photo is old and I probably don’t look like that anymore.
Unfortunately, I guess I’ll have to do this their way – the hard way. I think I’m in for some waiting in line at crowded government offices.
But if I start now and crawl through that maze, I might be able to get on a plane this year, maybe headed somewhere nice this spring. If you see me out there on May 7, say hello. And happy birthday.