Who would have thought that I would be here, as in where I am now, or more to the point, who would have thought that I would make it this far?
Go figure . . .
But I have to say it
Age —
It’s a funny thing.
I think about the stories from my youth. I think about the authority figures, the doctors, or people in higher positions at work. I look back at them and then I think about how old they seemed to me.
And they still do, seem old, I mean.
I am not much on birthdays. Well, at least not much on my own birthday.
I say this with reasons. I’m not much on gifts.
I don’t need anything, per se. But yes, today is my birthday.
I suppose this is something to think about. I suppose this is something to celebrate or recognize because, in fact, I did make it this far.
I survived myself, despite myself, and despite my best interests. I poked a few bears and shook a few tales and I dared the odds more than once (or twice).
I am not young nor am I a child. However, I understand what it seems like to believe that I am a child in the sense that I am trying something new for the first time.
I started a new regiment this year.
I’ve been training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu almost three times a week.
I go to the gym.
I work.
I write.
And I try to live to the best of my ability.
I am learning though.
I am thumbing through the pages of my own playbook and realizing that I need to revamp my style, so-to-speak. I have to change my approach. I have to adjust and accommodate for loss, change and as a means to improve, I have to learn to navigate and negotiate the terrain ahead of me.
I am not always so clear on what to do or say.
I know that chapters have ended and new ones are beginning.
I can’t go back.
I can’t move faster.
Sometimes, I have to learn how to coast.
Sometimes, I need to learn how to advance, and pardon my language, but sometimes, I need to learn how to shut my fucking mouth!
I was telling you about the adults in my childhood life and how they seemed so ancient to me.
The idea of someone being over 50 was too much for me to consider. To be clear, I never really thought that I would ever be “old” or ‘this old.”
But I am.
I suppose that I am a part of someone’s story now too, and somehow, I have become that old guy at work, thinking about my retirement, or complaining about the news or the market or interests rates and my pension or my annuity.
Meanwhile, there are young kids at work or young kids in my industry, or young people who I train with, and they look at me like I looked at the old-timers when I was their age.
Someone told me, “Wow, you look good for your age.”
“I didn’t know you were that OLD!”
I’d have beaten him up but my joints are stiff and I just don’t have the gas tank to go ten rounds anymore. Or wait, who am I kidding?
I don’t have the gas tank to go a single round, let alone ten.
It’s amazing . . .
I’m not used to being older than my doctors.
That’s a crazy thing.
I’m older than some of the teachers I’ve supported when I used to do in-school lectures.
But the doctor thing really gets me.
I’m not used to looking at someone who is holding a chart about my health and meanwhile, all I can wonder is how long has this guy been shaving or how long has it been since he’s been out of high school?
I am a man with a position. I have had great things happen to me. I have been down in the dumps. I have seen the highs and the lows too, which is part of my life.
I admit that I am going through a transition. I am changing.
I am rethinking and recalibrating my life, my hopes, my goals, and my dreams.
Am I going to go through a mid-life crisis?
Is this it?
Is there more for me out there?
Are there more surprises?
Perhaps . . .
I am realizing that I am moving towards the twilight, which is not to be morbid or to realize that death is always upon us, and the end of my life is drawing close.
I agree with the saying: Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think!
But more so, rather than consider the end is drawing closer, I suppose this is a good time to realize that life is always upon me.
I can live too.
I can do anything.
And now?
Now is a good time to live.
Now is a good time to make up for lost time. Now is a good time to recognize things like, say, the opportunity to get in the car and drive with no intention, no direction, no destination in mind, and no agenda—just drive, and just go, and just look to see what the world shows us.
I am aware of the changes at hand. And sure, I have more changes on the way.
Some are of no surprise, and some will be more than a surprise.
I’m sure.
Life is always changing.
So am I, and so are you.
And that’s fine.
Nothing is ever so final.
Nothing is over, per se.
Perhaps everything is just starting.
This is only a new beginning.
Beginnings can be intimidating, no differently from when I was the new kid in class or the new guy at Jiu-Jitsu.
Maybe I need to learn more.
Maybe I need to open my eyes more.
Maybe I needed to lose more to realize that no, I don’t want to lose anything else, and that now is a good time to collect all the memories that I can, to preserve them, to accompany at the end of twilight and to sleep with me when the hour is at hand.
I can say that this last year has been tough. I can say that there were redeeming moments that were so incredible and healing.
I can say that there are times when I was hungry and times when I was full and content and there were times when I was happy beyond compare.
I still want to dance.
I want to make that prom, which is a dance that I never had the chance to go to.
I will want you to be my date . . .
If you’ll still have me.
I want to make up for lost time.
So, if I am to blow out any candles this year, which is not my highest priority; but still, I plan to close my eyes and make a wish.
First, I wish for you—my most special friend.
Second, I wish for the dreams to come true
And third, well, this is all in one wish, so . . .
My real wish—to live
to live as best as I can
to love with all of my heart
to see the sights, to do the dance, to watch the sunrise from the coast of a shoreline that I’ve never seen before, and to notice the sunset, and to see something so beautiful that I am reminded of none other than the musical great, Eric Clapton, and think to my self or out loud and say, “My darling, you look wonderful tonight.”
Dear Mom,
It’s never really been a good birthday since you left. I remember how you would wait to call because you didn’t want to call too early, and wake me up, but then the phone would ring, bright and early, and then you would sing happy birthday to me.
Ma,
You never had much of a singing voice.
But no one sang happy birthday to me like you did.
I miss you,
Your son
B—
The Written Addiction 