On Turning 44 | It’s Time to Grow Up
Living in the past is not something I recommend. So, my advice to you is to do as I say, not as I do. I have this tendency to keep one foot firmly planted in years past like I’m holding open a door for someone to hurry in as I’m hurrying out. Because, despite my foot, my eyes are always on the what’s next. Don’t rest on laurels, don’t bask in the current glow because you’ll find it harder and harder to continue learning and adventuring and finding new successes.
So, why do I keep that foot in that door to the past? It’s comfortable. It makes self-reflection a breeze. But it can, and it often does, arrest some development. Visit the past, don’t live in it.
I look at myself in the mirror a lot. Not for vanity but for clues. Clues to how I got to be the person I am today. This is not a recent development of a man facing his midlife. I’ve been doing this, thinking this way, since at least the seventh grade. And I wonder what the boy I was would think of the man I am. And I think that boy would be equal parts proud and disappointed.
Life hasn’t played out exactly as I once thought it would or wanted it to. Not in a bad way, but in a different way. And that would be a tricky thing to explain to a younger me. The reality of sacrifice and responsibility were not concepts younger me would accept as acceptable. But that’s youth, ain’t it.
So tonight, at the time of this writing, I am two hours shy of my forty-fourth birthday and I’m going to dip into the past just a bit, just to the last year, to consider what I’ve learned. And then I’m going to close the door. But before I do, I’ll make sure it’s unlocked and the windows to the past are well Windexed, so that I don’t forget the lessons—all of them—and where I came from and who that boy was and continued to be.
That said, the first lesson is pretty obvious.
It’s time to grow up
I’m not talking about being a stuffy grownup who complains about kids today or loud music or even technology. I’ll never be a stuffy grownup despite my occasional struggle with tech. But it’s time to accept that I am not twenty-two with no accountability to anyone but myself. I have a wife, two kids, and a dog. It’s time to be accountable—100 percent accountable—to these creatures. It’s time to do a better job of living with that fact. With that choice I made. With that choice I make every day. It’s time to stop convincing myself that it’s a drag to be accountable in this way to these creatures I love so dearly. If I don’t think about it too hard, it’s quite natural to realize that I’m quite happy as a domesticated beast.
I’m an addict
I’ve never tried cocaine because I am as sure as sure can be that I’d commit myself to it and after writing three of the greatest novels the world will ever know, I’d be dead in a week. So, that’s not my addiction. Oh, yeah, I’ve got plenty of vices and habits that I struggle to keep at bay or kick altogether, but my real addiction is to avoidance. This is a truth I’ve avoided for quite a long time.
I learned this past year that for the last thirteen years or so, I’ve avoided pain and discomfort at all costs. And it’s cost me, I’m sure. What risks have I missed that could have elevated my life’s experience? Couldn’t tell you. I play things safe because I believe I’m too old, too advanced, too smart to fall prey to pain and discomfort. So I avoid. Because I never want to feel the hell I’ve felt before.
But pain and discomfort happen. They have to. That’s how we grow. Challenges build muscle. It’s like my mentor, author Dr. John H. Irsfeld would say, “Life has its rhythms.” We’re going to have our ebbs. And I recently had one. I might still be in it. And it’s awful. And it’s probably more awful than it otherwise would be because I’m trying to figure out how to avoid the feeling rather than adjusting the situation. Some storms you gotta find safe harbor and wait out. Some you gotta keep sailing through. Yes, pain has to happen. Because it’s from where we learn. Take the Holocaust. That happened. It absolutely did. And we learned a yet unknown length of human depravity. We learned to say something when you see something. We learned that if you wait seventy-five years, rampant anti-Semitism will be cool again.
It’s time to get back to pushing myself instead of protecting myself.
I’m no good at feeling good but real good at feeling bad
And that’s the struggle for me. I find comfort in the quiet misery of self-loathing. Oddly, it helps with the avoidance. Humans are complicated despite what a personality test will tell you. We are not one or three ways. We are a million ways at any given moment for any given reason. If the other shoe is going to drop, I should enjoy every single instance of good time I have with the complete pair while I got them. And when that shoe does drop, I need to be quick to replace it.
I am just as capable as I’ve ever been
Things I could do at twenty-two that I can’t do at forty-four:
Stay out drinking with strangers for all hours of the night
And that’s about it. I can run distances, I can lift heavy things, I can be annoyed at my hair two weeks after a haircut and two weeks before the next because I haven’t gone bald. My eyesight hasn’t changed in years. In fact, I could make the argument—and here I am making it—that I’m in better physical condition than I was at twenty-two. Sure, I’ve got some of that stubborn midlife fat around the midsection, but I’ve also got more muscle, I’ve got more endurance. There’s nothing I can’t do now that I could do then. Except, well…
I can’t write like I could. And that’s a time management thing. A Big Boy Job that keeps me busy by the hours and brain power, accountability to the aforementioned creatures… these do have an impact on my time and creative output. I have more stuff to do during the day and the day has not met that demand with more time. It’s kind of like the American Economy in that way. Cost of living goes up, wages don’t meet that demand. Workers and their grand ideas risk dying on the vine.
But we make due. And that’s my resolution this year. Get better at writing more. I have all these stories and essays and books living rent free in my crowded head. Writers write. Losers don’t.
I haven’t aged out of opportunity or adventure
And since I’m still young enough for opportunity to keep knocking at my door, I’m going to answer it and seize it.
Opportunities to learn. Opportunities to expand my creativity. Opportunities to enhance my quality of domestication.
And adventure… it awaits. I used to find myself on a lot of road trips that often devolved into memorable debauchery. And that was fun. And that can still happen. Just not as often. But I can also create a road trip adventure with a five-year-old to Milwaukee for a weekend. We’ll load up on candy and late nights and who knows what else. So now I’ve got more opportunities for more kinds of adventures.
Perspective, kid
And, perhaps the greatest lesson of them all is that my life can be as absurd and wild and rhythmically adventurous as it’s ever been just at a different scale. Perspective, that thing that comes with age, is what I need to remember. And my perspective is this: My life may not be perfect, but it’s mine. I made it. And I ain’t mad at it—most of the time. Though I will always complain, I really don’t have much to complain about. And that’s what makes a happy birthday.
