I turned forty this past summer. I’m trying not to think about it. It’s weird. I don’t feel that old and most of my friends will tell me that we’re still young, still in our prime. “Forty is the new thirty,” they say, “maybe even the new twenty-eight.” But let’s be honest--the perspective has shifted. Forty is forty. It ain’t young. My body is starting to tell me I’m getting older and the guy in the mirror certainly doesn’t look as young as he used to. The odds of my family line tell me I am closer to death than I am to my birth, and that is a stark realization no matter how juvenile my friends and I may still act.
But I can embrace a new phase. With age comes wisdom, or so they say. I remember my cousin Tom telling me once when we were kids that his dad claimed that a man wasn’t a man until he was forty. There seems to be some truth to that. Although, it occurs to me now that Uncle Ted was probably right around forty at that time--now he would probably say that a man isn’t a man until he’s 65! It’s all about perspective, I suppose.
But there is a certain perspective that comes with mid-life, and perhaps it is worth putting into words. I’m not an out-of-touch old foggie yet, but nor am I impressed by the latest shiny toy or idea. And my generation, especially my micro-generation, the so-called xennials born between 1977 and 1983, have a unique view of this changing world we all share together. We live in the present, can make use of the latest advancements in technology, and dream of the the future where these will take us. But we also have roots in a time before the connectivity of the iphone and social media, before all information and news (and anxiety) was instantaneously available to everyone with internet access, before community could mean much other than the people around you. We were formed in a far different world than the one we are living in (or I should say, creating) now.
My friend, Nathan, says that once you hit forty you start speaking your mind. Perhaps that is a good thing. Not in the way of the angry old grouch, but in the way of the wise teacher, willing to speak up in humility to share a perspective, to ask good questions, and to really listen to other perspectives. (And it is this last one that takes the most practice and, maybe, the most courage).
I’ve certainly got a lot of questions right now. Questions about all aspects of life: How do we share this planet together without destroying it? How do we raise children to be aware of problems in the world without scaring them? How do we care for one another? How do we truly get to know those who are different from us? What is the good life? Is capitalism working? Why don’t we have hover cars yet or better trains? Why is the gap between rich and poor growing so quickly and why aren’t more people concerned about it? Why is our politics so divided? Why do we let youth sports run (or ruin) our lives? How do we raise young men with a healthy sense of masculinity? What is a healthy sense of masculinity? Why is church so irrelevant? Why is racism so prevalent? Why is it so hard to provide affordable health care while doctors, medical administrators, and insurance companies make so much money? Why do we treat “the market” and it’s so-called invisible forces as natural law of God? How do we get rid of all this plastic? What will happen to medicare and social security? How the hell did Donald Trump become president? How do we cut through media spin? What is truth? When did the national anthem become solely about respect and honor for the military? Seriously! All. This. Plastic…
I don’t claim to have a lot of good answers to these questions (and I’m not sure that “answers” would actually be helpful for most of them), but I do think we need to figure out a way to actually talk about some of these big issues in a constructive way. So maybe forty will bring the courage to question, to listen, and to offer up a perspective more often--to effectively speak my mind in an effort toward the greater good. I'm hoping to at least give it the old midlife try! Something tells me we need to do this now more than ever.
I turned 40 the same year my dad turned 80 and I'll never forget what he told me. He said, "When you're 20 you are worried about what everyone thinks about you. When you turn 40 you don't care anymore." I nodded realizing that this was a change I was experiencing. Then he addded, "When you turn 60, well, you realize no one ever was really thinking about you." I took that in and asked, "So, what happens when you turn 80?" Without missing a beat he said, "You wouldn't understand."
ReplyDeleteWelcome to 40, Joe. I am thinking about you - at least some of the time - and I think you are doing a pretty darn good job of life. Keep it up. Keep learning and share it with others.