I’ve reached the point in my life that more people I know are dying than being born. When I do find out someone had been born, I’m told by their grandparent, whom I’m friends with.
I watched this happen to my parents a few decades ago. I remember as a child attending a 40th birthday party for a family friend, wondering if my parents would ever live to be as old as 40.
In my mind I’m still 25. My wife, Ann, would argue that in my mind I’m 15 but that’s emotional IQ and not physical reality. Physically I feel as good as I did at 30. Ann would tell you that by 30 I had already fallen apart and now I’m just maintaining old equipment. Unfortunately shocks and pads are harder to replace on the human machine.
I will never see 45 again, and since I can’t imagine living to be a hundred, that means I’m past the halfway point or officially middle-aged. I’m certain the next 40 years will bring disappointment and decay but at the same time infinite possibilities.
There are so many things I haven’t accomplished, so many mountains to climb. Metaphorically climb. I’m too old actually climb a mountain. Maybe a steep hill. The great American novel I have yet to write, the business ideas I have yet to launch, the supermodels I have yet to date. If you’re going to dream, might as well dream big.
Dad: “When I get older and my faculties start to go don’t put me in one of those care facilities.”
Olympia (Age 18): “I already promised Mom I wouldn’t send you to the same place as her.”
Dad: “I don’t want someone else to plan out what time I’m going to eat and what I’m going to do with my day.”
Olympia: “You need that now. If Mom leaves for more then 24 hours you fall apart.”
Dad: “Look, if I ever go around the bend just lock me in the garage. I’ll just putter around starting projects that I’ll forget I started.”
Olympia: “Would you want me to move out all the currents projects in the garage you’ve forgotten about? I’m not sure there’s room for any new ones.”
Dad: “That’s real funny.”
Olympia: “Who’s joking?”