Milestones were once distance markers in ancient times. In modernity, we use the term in somewhat different ways. Milestones now mark significant events in our lives: the day we met, the passing of a loved one, starting dates, ending dates, graduations and anniversaries alike, and, of course, everybody's favorite day to recognize, our annual birthday.
In our youth, birthdays represented rites of passage, where society metes out privileges in small increments. Turn sixteen, you get to drive; at eighteen, you're no longer a minor; at twenty-one, you can finally take a seat at the bar and have your first adult beverage. Legal one, that is.
For those of us on the wrong side of young, society wisely spreads the milestones out some. We age up every five years in our tennis world, not the frantic two years of our junior days. Once we cross the senior discount line, the benefits really start a-coming. Had enough of kids? There's a shiny new senior living complex just for your type. Social Security chimes in a couple more years, mocking your life's hard work with its paltry monthly benefit structure. Staying among the living a little longer means Medicare will be waiting with all its confusing parts and forms. Frankly, I'm all right with this expanded spacing. Who needs more frequent reminders we're not getting any younger?
These aging milestones are nothing to jump up and down about, not the least because we'd likely hurt ourselves. But sitting here on the eve of my 60th birthday, a milestone I never thought I'd reach, does provide a moment's pause for wistful reflections on life and its many lessons that I'd like to share with you now.
The term is age appropriateness, behaving in predictable, socially agreed-upon ways or norms. It's our species' collective struggle, with some among us more appropriate than others. For those who struggle here (have you been to a gym lately?), there's a holding on/can't let go quality to it all, an inability to grieve our passing youth and all its crazy glory.
I recall a time in my 40s burning the candle on both ends and the middle, too, hell, the whole candelabra. My ethos then was I'd met a lot of grown-ups in my life, and frankly, I wasn't impressed. So pedal to the youthful metal I was. Grinding on the courts all day, Sunset Strip for music and adventure at night. With that Monday through Friday nightmare done, it was full-contact hedonism, a weekend hippy warrior extraordinaire. There was no thought of a sabbath, no overwhelming desire for a quiet night at home. But come Sunday night's closing time and a restless night's sleep, those manic Monday mornings began to hit like an anvil.
I was an aging guy not acting my age. Until I just couldn't anymore. So I made a change. Not one of those dramatic midlife crisis types but more a sly subtle shift in perspective. I made an active choice to see myself differently. Instead of being an older young guy, I shifted my identity to becoming a younger old guy. And what a difference it made. Who knew the power of insight to alter one's fate, that nothing had changed except I chose to see myself differently, or more realistically, that I'd finally been graced with the timely gift of acceptance, hitching my wagon to the calmer herd of middle age.
In middle age, great bargaining begins with us no longer possessed by that youthful fire fueled by curiosity, seeking, learning, conquering, achieving, experiencing, an insatiable burning zest for life, rarely content, always wanting, often just more.
I think back now on what I once thought was important, all the fiery ambitions of the addled youthful mind. I can only shake my head today and smile. But times were different then, as was I. It all made perfect sense in that place with those people in that moment. But that moment’s passed. And my internal pilot light, which once burned so bright it could light a valley, morphed into a mere flicker; its desire for peek experiences a mere dying ember of its former self.
Today, my now finite energy is spent getting home early, securing my favorite pillow on my corner of the couch, and embracing some loving snugs from a couple of pugs. And what a transformation it’s been. It happens gradually, then all at once. I used to choose my concerts by what tour to go on. Now it’s do I have to stand. And don't you laugh; you'll all be there someday. We face the same foe, Father Time, on one of history's most incredible winning streaks. Undefeated for all eternity.
Continuing my Eras tour, I approach the dawn of seniority with a new algorithm. Still a few years from Life Alert or a reverse mortgage, the indignities of aging are all around. Those of us in the tennis industry lost some of our most beloved peers these past few years. It’s like a rapture occurred, secular style. Vibrant and seemingly healthy one minute, they vanish from this Earthly plane without warning. It's unsettling, to reach an age where randomness rules, where loss becomes a regular part of living, when doing everything asked of you often isn't enough.
Which creates challenges in planning for tomorrow. And oh, the irony. Years struggling with alcoholism and addiction, I was always plotting and planning, trying to escape from an exitless maze. Until I surrendered fully, resigning myself to the fate of the cosmos and all it has in store. You learn valuable lessons in the fertile void, not the least being that the only certainty in life is uncertainty. Yet, if you can sustain conscious contact with a power greater than yourself, where doing right becomes your northern light, things always seem to work out for the best.
And it was with such attitude that this sober California hippy tennis pro writer with politics left of Karl Marx picked up and moved to Nashville some years back without much of a plan. Within months, I met this beautiful conservative farm girl from Iowa with four grown kids and a love of country music. I would marry that gal a few years back, both of us the elusive missing piece in each other's jigsaw puzzle. And today, we couldn't be happier sharing our golden years together.
And this crazy, beautiful family I married into. We just celebrated the family planner’s birthday, the prodigal son is getting married next month, the mascot just got engaged to a super guy, and the soulful eldest looks toward giving my wife a second grandchild. To be present for this alchemy, to bear witness to their thriving lives, all of them moving forward in so many beautiful ways. What a gift it’s all been.
And across the room, I hear the opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide...
And time makes you bolder
And children get older
And I'm getting older too.
Yeah, I'm getting older too.
I type these words on the eve of turning sixty, the same age as old people. How that ever happened on my watch will remain a mystery. But there’s no fear or regret, only gratitude. What a privilege it is, the gift to grow older in this life.
This is your perfect outlet.