Countdown to The Big One

In less than a week, I will turn forty years old. It feels strange even constructing those words into a sentence. After all, forty is really, really old, or at least that was what I thought when my father turned forty. “Man, that poor bastard,” I thought. Now, I am the poor bastard. Ah, the circle of life.

I am not sure when a man’s mid-life crisis is supposed to begin, but my anxiety about this particular birthday is growing. Some men deal with their impending old age by going out of their way to do things to feel young again – buying a sports car, or dating a younger woman. Me? I write – that’s just what I do. So, in lieu of a shiny red Corvette, or a twenty year old mistress, I submit for your approval the story of my own impending old age.

Getting older doesn’t feel the way I thought it would. As a kid, I always figured I would feel like an adult at some point, but it never happened. It’s not that I am emotionally immature, I just never quite transitioned fully into the role of being a grown-up. In many ways, I am still the little kid who puts on his dad’s shoes and suit jacket trying to look like a businessman. In a very profound sense, I am a kid trapped in an adult’s body. This all has disturbing psychological implications, of course, and I should probably be in a therapy session right now instead of writing this. They make medications for people like me.

When I graduated from high school, my assumption was that a suitable college major would become undeniably evident to me without any effort on my part. I would follow that course of study, graduate and start a career directly related to my studies. I would return home from my deeply satisfying job every evening and sit in my comfortable chair while someone fetched my slippers and pipe. I had no idea what to expect. In reality, I never experienced that moment when the skies parted, and golden cherubs descended from the heavens with a gilded envelope containing the plan for the rest of my life. I spent several years, and many tens of thousands of parental dollars, in college trying to figure out what to do with my life and, in the end, left without ever knowing what field of study would have been ideal for me. Though I still feel pretty guilty about blowing so much of my folks’ cash, I now realize that the whole college experience itself is a gamble. I don’t think anyone enters college knowing what the outcome will be. They might think they know, but they don’t. I’ll bet there are more than a few MBAs out there right now delivering pizzas in a red pick up truck, just like I did. C’est la vie.

I think that was the first major breakthrough I had in understanding what life is about. If you think you have it all figured out, that is a sure sign that you don’t. If you appear to have your life totally under control, secretly you are in complete chaos. The first step in understanding life is to come to the realization that you know nothing, and that you control nothing. Life is a series of events over which you have little or no control, and the secret to getting through it without blowing your brains out is to relinquish control. The contradiction in trying to make sense of your existence is that you are trying to make sense of the inherently non-sensical. The fallacy is in attempting to know the unknowable. We are all just passengers on this ride. If you really think you are behind the wheel, you have miles to go before you sleep.

So, I have partially relieved myself of that guilt I felt in not finishing college. Sure, I wish I had my degree, and lots of people have assured me over the years that, “You can go back anytime.” That’s a nice thing for people to say, but I think we all know that the reality is much different. Am I, as a forty year old man, going to return to campus, sit next to a kid named Dylan with an earring in his lip and expect to pick up where I left off? That kid wasn’t even born when I was in college the first time, and he’s probably wearing a Ramones t-shirt his mom bought at the mall despite the fact that he never saw The Ramones live and has never put a record on a turntable in his whole zit-covered life. I guess that’s what they call the generation gap. It existed before me, and it will continue long after I am gone. The undeniable signs of aging are everywhere around me.

For example, within the last year, I stopped listening to commercial radio in favor of NPR. Oh man, what the hell? It’s hard to look cool when you pull up at a stoplight blasting All Things Considered on your stereo. I actually care about my gas mileage. ESPN has turned into CNN and, one day, I suspect CNN will turn into C-SPAN. I have Dr. Jack Kevorkian on speed dial in case that ever happens. I have more hair on my ears than on my head. I wear a suit to work, even though my office is business casual. Spicy food gives me heartburn. I think today’s music is complete crap. Office happy hours have become staying at home watching Dancing With the Stars with my wife. Long Island Tea has become green tea. Yes, I can still party like it’s 1999, I just need to be home before 7:30.

An undeniable sign of aging is remembering where things used to be. My son gets the unfortunate brunt of that. “See that check cashing place? That used to be where I got my photos developed.” “See that house right there? My friend Todd used to live there.”

I have started getting those lines and crevices in my face that make you look old. I had never noticed them until I saw a few photos of myself, and I was horrified. It looked like I hadn’t slept in days. Now, I find myself looking for some kind of cream or treatment to turn back the clock on my aging face. I have regrettably gotten to that stage where I am desperately trying to keep myself from desiccating. I want to feel comfortable going to the natural history museum knowing that I will not be mistaken for an artifact from the Egyptian exhibit.

I actually kind of enjoy the benefit of some perspective on issues which might rattle a twenty year old. Yeah, there are a lot more worries and responsibilities, but overall, I’m pretty happy with things as they are – which is good because I am powerless to change them anyway. I enjoy my family. I complain about getting my kid awake, fed, clothed and off to school, but the truth is, I really like it. My wife and I have been married for ten years. We can either sit in a room without ever acknowledging each other, or have an entire discussion with our eyes. I traded in my skin-tight blue jeans and leather jacket for some Bermuda shorts and flip flops – and I’m fine with that. I don’t know how to text, sext or Tweet. I remember what it’s like to put a needle on a record. I know what it’s like to remember someone’s phone number, rather than dialing their name. I laugh out loud…I never LOL.

Most of all, I guess I’m thankful. I’ve been around long enough to see changes in the world that I never imagined. I’ve been around long enough to appreciate the importance of leaving a legacy in this world. I’ve already lived to see the next generation of my family. Forty years isn’t really that long, unless you try to remember everything that has happened to you in those forty years. Then, it’s just soul-crushingly depressing. Overall, my first forty years on this planet have been interesting and sometimes unexpected, but I’m thankful to have been there for them. I hope my next forty offer the same.

Turning forty is Ok except for the aging part – that sucks ass.