Reflections on Turning 41

“Grim Reaper.” Made with Midjourney

Today, April 16th, is my birthday. And I don’t care what anyone says. Your birthday always feels special, no matter what your age. Even if you didn’t plan anything special. Or if you’re at work on your birthday, which I am today.

Last year I wrote a reflection article on turning 40, “40 Isn’t ‘Over the Hill,’ But Death Does Move in Next Door.” So why not do 41 also?

Forty-one isn’t exactly a milestone year like 40. At this point in life you start to only celebrate in ten-year increments. But like my article last year mentions, death does move in a little closer. Now it’s out there watering its grass, waving to me. It hasn’t asked to come over for a barbecue, or tried to borrow anything yet. But I’m sure that time will come.

Getting older past 40 is like walking around with a sniper targeting you, not knowing if the guy will pull the trigger, or turn his attention to bigger fish. And that’s because you’ve reached the Age of Sudden Heart Attacks.

Of course, people drop dead of heart attacks and other ailments all the time at all ages. But it’s kind of rare it happens to people in their 20s and 30s. It’s really your 40s when you start hearing about it. Even though I’ve been careful and conscious about my health, stayed in shape, maintain a good diet, and avoid health-busting vices like drinking, drugs, and smoking, and don’t have a family history of early heart attacks, it doesn’t mean I’m not in the crosshairs of that Sudden Death Sniper Bulls-Eye.

But I’m not going to sit here all preoccupied with death, like in my turning 40 article. I’d rather spend the time reflecting on things. Not just “getting older” reflections, but reflections on life in general.

So here they are, by category.

Love/Marriage/Relationships/Situation-ships/Etc.

I’ve avoided the black hole of marriage or a long-term committment at this point largely by choice, but also by the nature of my location and occupation. I work in a rural area in a position related to the energy sector. Not exactly the most conducive environment to meeting people, much less finding relationships. Where I live is where relationships go to die.

Though lately, that seems like almost everywhere. Even in major cities and denser population areas, it’s become problematic to find a long-term partner for everyone. People get married later, start families later, or don’t even start ones in the first place. And half or more of those that do end up divorced or in bad relationships anyway. I’d like to think I’ve dodged the bullet of a nasty divorce or failed marriage, but the reality is I actually have a lot of respect and optimism for the institution itself. I refuse to give into cynicism as so many do nowadays, dismissing the idea of a long-term commitment as some silly pipe dream. Even seeing a lot of people in my family go through the tortuous drudgery of divorce, I won’t give up hope in the practice itself.

It’s certainly not too late to find “love” at 41. But I maintain that the most ideal time to do so is in your youth. As in late teens or early 20s. Even as young as 16. Call me a romantic, but I’d always wished I could have met someone special as a teenager, and then been able to spend my life with that person. It may have been my Christian upbringing (I’m an agnostic now), a juvenile fantasy, or just my own naivete that made me long for that, but not being able to find someone when I was in that age group remains a disappointment.

It’s not as if modern life helps any in that department. Most people would scoff at the very idea of teenagers staying together past high school. Or even in college. The world wants young people dedicated to corporate needs. It brainwashes them into attending college for mostly worthless degrees, then advanced degrees, to find jobs that many don’t even find meaningful anyway, so they can buy shit they don’t really need. The Western world may have its technological wonders and materalism, but it’s a callous, heartless place. You don’t see it when you’re young — you don’t see how mindlessly the world wants to suck you in to become just another consumer cog. I see so many young people today just get swept up on the conveyor belt. They don’t realize that colleges are businesses first, that are more than happy to stick you with an enormous debt you’ll be left paying off for years. They don’t care about you. You are just a number.

It’s a tragedy, really. So many young people trading in some of the best years of their lives for a worthless degree, tons of debt, poor job prospects, or an unfilling job anyway. Just to overpay for an apartment, or even be unable to afford a house. Society expects, even encourages, young people to screw around. Enjoy a few flings. Not to be concerned with finding a serious relationship because who cares. But the truth is you don’t have as much time as you think. And high school/college are generally your best years to find someone with whom you are compatible. It only gets tougher as you age. Mistakes begin to compound. And it’s harder and harder to meet people you connect with. Then there’s all the energy expended on finding a mate. Trust me, it’s not something you want to do in your late 20’s or 30s. It’s really best to do that as early as possible, then build from there. Before it starts to feel more like a business transaction. But I suppose there’s no stopping the social trends in the West.

Money/Finance/Getting “it” done/Etc.

This is an area I’ve focused on a lot in recent years, and I’m proud to say I’ve made some good strides. The stock market crash of ’22, the crypto winter, and some learning experiences in a few trades have set me back. But I’m back on track. Even if the economy undergoes a recession this year or next, I’m still on the upward trajectory.

I still have zero debt. No mortgage. No credit cards, except one I use for a few subscriptions that I pay off every month. No back taxes. I took the Dave Ramsey approach to all of my student loans and other debts years ago, and now I’m a giant zero in that department. Which is exactly what everyone should do. I don’t accept the idea that we have an equity crisis in this country. Most financial problems are self-inflicted, the result of bad choices, or due to tragic health events. Not because Jeff Bezos and others are “too rich” or some crap. Generally speaking, if you don’t have children out of wedlock, and can manage to finish high school, you’ll stay out of poverty. You may not become rich, but you’ll survive. And even if you can’t finish high school, there are so many free educational sources on the internet or in your local library. There are tons of government programs and loans for college or assistance. Everyone gets stuck in a bind here and there. I’ve been there myself. But there are many tools to work through any issues you have. Much of the poverty and crime you see is due to drugs, alcoholism, poor culture, or mental illness, not the “evil capitalist system.” The capitalist system is what enables welfare and other government programs to survive in the first place. I’m not against having a social safety net. But I do believe that people need to try their best to pilot their own lives.

Diet/Exercise/Fitness/Etc.

As I’ve mentioned before in other articles, I absolutely detest the middle-aged pot belly look that so many dudes seem way too comfortable having. We have an obesity epidemic not just in this country, but globally, in many developed countries. The older I get, more of a premium I put on having a healthy diet and staying fit. I don’t mean you have to be jacked. But you should have a proper BMI for your height. You should be able to feed yourself properly without having to run to the fast food place on the corner. I find myself increasingly disgusted and filled with contempt toward the increasing number of irresponsible and slovenly fat asses who take up more and more space. Especially young people. How is it okay to not even be out of your teens and both your ass cheeks are sticking out on either side of your chair? I understand a 50-year old mother of three not having the best body shape. Or an older guy with lots of responsibilities. Fatness is sometimes justifiable. But if you’re young and in the prime of life? Totally unacceptable.

Many people just don’t realize or don’t care about the health hazards that obesity and a poor diet can cause. Diebetes, joint problem, heart disease, etc. Fatness has become socially acceptable. And if no one else will say it, I certainly will. That’s fucking disgusting.

Which brings me to one very positive benefit of getting older — you care less and less what others think. You become more concerned with obtaining and speaking the truth. Traditionally, it was the job of the elders in the tribe to impart their wisdom, or at least provide a more mature perspective. But no one listens to anyone outside their social media echo chamber, which is dominated largely by political and social activists with their own axes to grind. I’m not an elder yet. I’ve got a ways to go. But I’d like to think I do a better job now of thinking things through than I did at 20.

As I write this, it is almost exactly 41 years ago to the second that I was born. It’s been a fast four decades and one year. If I’m fortunate to get another four decades and one year (or more), I’m sure they will go even faster. I guess now’s the time to think of what I’d say to my younger self. What amazing “words of wisdom” would I impart? I’d say to my younger self to worry less about what the world wants from you, and more about what you want, and what will make you happy. I’d say to not be afraid to prioritize love and relationships, even it puts you “behind the curve.” Fuck that curve. I’d say that there’s a brief time when everything is light and magic, and afterward it starts to become increasing shades of dark. Especially when you’re alone. That the world wants to isolate you, and put you on the hamster wheel, so you can keep buying junk. But that’s really no way to live.

And I’d say happy birthday.

40 Isn’t “Over the Hill,” But Death Does Move in Next Door

And occasionally knocks on your door late at night.

Photo by Renato Danyi from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/grey-skulls-piled-on-ground-1096925/

It’s strange how when you’re really young — early to late teens, even 20s — the idea of being a middle-aged adult seems ridiculously remote and impossible.

Getting older is for other people. Your parents, for example, who were born ancient. Or your aunts and uncles. Or that one teacher who’s been teaching algebra since the Apollo moon missions. People to whom the rules of life apply. Not you, of course.

And then it happens. Slowly, steadily, with the inevitability of Michael Myers stalking you across the neighborhood.

For sure, some people age better than others. I remember always being told that when I turned 30, that’d be “it.” Meaning I’d suddenly develop a massive beer belly, joint and back problems, lose my hair, incur all sorts of health problems, you name it. Thirty was the “turning midnight” in the Cinderella story of aging, apparently.

As it turned out, I actually lost weight and kept it off during my 30s. I still have all my hair, with some noble grays. And with the exception of a nasty flu back in 2019, I’ve hardly had any health issues. I never even caught Covid.

Actually, I ended my 30s in better shape than when I started them.

I’ve worked hard and tried my best to live a healthy life. Mostly, that just comes down to eating a proper diet and getting regular exercise. And maybe some genetics. I maintain that the rate at which you age is partially due to choices you make about whether to live a healthy life or not.

Six months ago I turned 40. A supposedly major milestone of a year. True middle-age. “Over the hill,” etc.

Though if we’re being technical, you won’t know when you’re truly middle-age until you’re dead, after which it won’t really matter. If you were to die at 40, then 20 was actually your true “middle-age.” Whereas if you die at 100, then 50 is your middle-aged point.

Statistically, men tend to die around 80 years old. So, it’s fair to say 40 is half-way to the grave.

And honestly, that’s exactly how it feels.

For me, forty is less a physical feeling than a mental one. For sure my body’s not as limber and springy as it was even five years ago. I am stronger. I still lift weights, and fit into jeans with a 32″ waist. I’m in better shape now than I’ve ever been.

A co-worker recently expressed shock when I revealed I was forty, telling me I look 30. I don’t actually believe him. Maybe I could pass for 35. But 30? I don’t think so.

He credited “clean living” for my youthful appearance. And he’s not wrong. I don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. I’m all about boring sobriety. But also — and perhaps most importantly — I don’t have kids, and I’ve never been married. I’ve avoided a lot of major pitfalls many sadly fall into by middle-age. A crushing mortgage. A nasty divorce and alimony. Debt and work pressures. I’m debt-free, and live a quiet, modest life.

Physically, I may be aging slower. But mentally, that’s another matter. And I’m not talking about the capacity to learn or the brain’s elasticity. I read and write a lot. I’m curious about the world. My neurons are still growing and forming attachments.

The problem is that as you age you start to give less of a shit about anything, because little excites you. Life starts to lose its flavor, so to speak, until it feels like bland day-long chewed bubblegum. Increasingly less surprises you. The patterns of life start to become repetitive. It’s like sitting down to watch a bad movie and by the halfway point you’ve already figured out all the twists and turns.

I don’t mean you know everything. Not at all. Quite the opposite. It’s just that more and more matters less and less to you overall. It’s a kind of weird Nihilism Fog. It’s not that nothing matters. It’s that you see the long-term futility in a lot of human behavior, especially your own actions. Man’s miniscule place against monolithic, eternal Nature. It’s why I don’t get excited or care much about politics. Everything’s cyclical. One political party will dominate this year, and next year it will be the next one. Rinse, wash, repeat. Big deal.

This can make it hard to stay motivated. You feel like you’re going through the motions. You’re like a robot sometimes. With rare exceptions, very little excites you. If your mood was a echocardiogram, it would mainly be a flat line with ocassional bounces and spikes. Outwardly, you keep on a smiling, social-friendly mask, of course. Inside, you look like the faces on those Easter Island heads.

Example: I was at a job fair a while back, and the recruiter — this late 20s, maybe early 30s looking guy — was excitedly telling me about all the great company benefits. Like 401(k), life insurance, annual pay raises, and three-tier health options. You know, benefits that virtually EVERY company under the fu*king sun offers these days. I smiled and nodded, amused that he could maintain such fervor for corporate minutiae, or at least pretend to.

Another example: Very few movies look worth watching. If you are over 35 and are still a big fan of Marvel/Star Wars and Disney stuff, I don’t understand you. There’s been one new movie this year I’ve really liked: Top Gun: Maverick. Because it actually made me feel something. I suspect Avatar 2 will have been worth the wait, too.

The older you get, the harder it is to be impressed. On the flip side, you really value those rare moments when things are done right.

I suppose the doldrums of middle-age are what drive so many people to make sudden life changes. Career pivots. Divorces or marriages. Having children. Moving to another place. Going back to school. Picking up a new hobby. Cutting off old friendships. Building new ones. Changing appearances. Losing weight. Exercising. Or other, more extreme things, like joining a cult or religion. Anything to stimulate, and simulate the effervesence of youth.

A mid-life crisis is like racing around trying to put out a fire that doesn’t exist, except in your head.

But it’s not without reason. The aging process is simply Death moving closer. When you’re an adolescent or teen, the Grim Reaper isn’t even in the neighborhood, usually. He’s in the next town over. By your 20s, Death’s living in the upscale part of town, where all the “real adults” and old people live. By your 30s, he may have moved to your block. But by your 40s, he’s next door. You see him barbecuing on the weekends. He waves to you as you leave your driveway to go to work. Sometimes, he even plays pranks on you. Late at night you might hear a banging on your door. When you go to answer, there’s no one there. You know it’s Death, of course. But it’s not like you’re going over to his house to confront him. He’s a big guy. Bald. Drives a Harley. Always wears black. He’s just not the kind of guy you mess with.

When you’re 50, Death moves into your house. And no, he ain’t paying rent. By 60, he’s sleeping in the top bunk above you. By 70+, you’re bedmates. After that, well, you become a little more than just friends.

These days, everyone is so focused on stopping the physical effects of aging. Everyone wants to look young. And with exercise, a good diet, sunscreen, lots of hydration, avoiding vices, and maybe a touch of plastic surgery, you can Dorian Gray yourself a good long while. Look at Tom Cruise. That guy has looked 35 since 1997.

But stopping the mental effects of aging is much tricker. And while I suspect it involves a bit of self-deception or purposeful distraction, I applaud those who are able to pull it off.