Contemplations on Midlife

So yesterday (August 24) I turned 49. Last year in this decade and this half of the century. I tried to come up with something profound but – nada. It’s been a dry spell for ideas lately.

Turning 49 is like winning $10.00 in the lottery. It's better than the alternative, but it’s not big enough to write home about.

No newspaper articles. No big celebrations. Those are for birthdays that end in a zero.

We did dinner with the fam and I got a new clicker for my truck.

I was thrilled. It was exactly what I wanted, since the keyless entry thingy that came with it in 1999 had long ago worn out. So had the extra one.

When you’re a kid, birthdays are all about the presents. The cards are just for keeping the money from getting lost.

When you’re fast approaching 50, it’s all about the cards. I loved them all. I got enough stuff, but a person can never have too many people to care about them.  Cards are kind of a geiger counter for that.

Mostly, I’m just amazed that I’m this old.

This is how old I think of my dad being. I can’t possibly be as old as him.  He's "DAD" old!

I can still do the same things that I did when I was 29. I just have to plan them out better, and a lot of times I think, “Yeah, I can do that, but DAMN, it’s gonna hurt tomorrow if I do.”

So I don’t. I think about it and decide that once I take out the deductible for the inevitable medical treatment, the cost of hiring someone else to take the pain for me is pretty reasonable especially if it's amortized out over the time it'll take the bruises to fade. 

For this reason, I no longer do ladders longer than 8 feet or dig holes deeper than 18 inches.

I heard someone say one time that their tool kit consisted of a hammer and a checkbook; what one wouldn’t fix, the other one would.

The one thing about approaching half a century is that you learn to adjust your expectations. Some things are simply not going to happen in the time remaining – we just have to accept it.

I’m not going to win the Boston Marathon. I’m not even likely to enter given my aversion to breaking a sweat if it can be avoided.

Regardless of which political party is in power, I will not be nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court. I sincerely hope that I never have to argue a case there. They don’ t make a bottle of Maalox big enough to handle that.

The Nobel Committee has not put any resources into trying to find my telephone number.  This is good, because all I have is a cell and it's not listed.

On the other hand, there are realities that no longer trouble me in the slightest.

I no longer need to save closet space for jeans with a size 34 waist, my breakfast cereal for the rest of my life will be chosen primarily for fiber content rather than sugar content, and pizza after 9:00 at night will be sorely regretted at 2:00 in the morning.  I sometimes dream about these things, but I certainly don't stay awake at night worrying about them.

Overall, though, I’m warm, I’m fed and I interact with people who seem to love me and whom I love on a regular basis.

There’s a lot worse things out there than being 49.  Maybe that's the most profound thing about it.