Ticking Away

Turning 50 in a few days. I’m not really sure how I feel about that. There are the obvious self-asked questions: How much longer might I live? What have I done with my life? Why haven’t I done this or that? I suppose everyone asks these questions throughout their lives. More so, I guess, the older we get. I’m gonna try to not rehash all the regrets I have about the things I’ve done again, I’ve done that here before. I just find it interesting how unlike a 50 year old I, and many others of my generation feel and act.

I’m always talking to people about how much younger we are at this age than our parents were. My Dad moved out of the house when he was 40. I can’t think of anyone around that didn’t think of him as an old man at the time. I’m quite sure his generation felt the same about his parents and my kids feel the same about me. Still, I can’t imagine my parents listening to the music I listen to or liking the things I do. I often wonder what the thoughts of my parents was and is as it compares to mine, not just at this age, but throughout their lives.

I’m not naïve enough to pretend that my likes, dislikes, fears and all the other stuff in my head is so different to anyone else’s but I do wonder how others deal with it better or worse than I do. I know there are very few that allow others so deep into their lives as I have chosen to do. I know I’m quite different than most in that aspect of life. The idea that I’m different than most when it comes to that sometimes gives me pause. I know people must get tired of it and for that I feel bad. I guess it comes down to the idea of me being who I am, take it or leave it, I’ve found, especially over the last couple of years, that this ridiculously large amount of people I’m fortunate to call friends not only allow it but have somehow seemed to embrace this aspect of my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I was chatting with a friend last night and I mentioned that there’s a comfort in being a freak and knowing it. It makes things easier for me to know I don’t have to put on a face that, for me at least, is such hard work while out and about. I realize that there are many out there that think I’m full of it and must think I’m faking it when I say the things I do when I’m writing. I simply can’t afford to think about. In the words of the world famous sailor, Popeye, “I am what I am”. I’ve often said that I’m not comfortable in my own skin and I’ve found a way to find a spot in my head to get as comfy as possible with what I have. Am I happy with who I am? No, not even close. Be that as it may be, I still wake up each day and fog the mirror and I’m told that means it’s a good day.

There’s a lyric from a Pink Floyd song that goes, “Another day older and one day closer to death”. I don’t look forward to death so don’t think I’m on the verge of hurting myself or anything like that. I “get” that lyric though. That’s pretty much how I’ve looked at things for as long as I can remember. Thinking that way has obviously shaped the way I am when it comes to being so open about my thoughts and feelings. Man that sounds so morose. It’s not meant to be, but that brings it back to the comfort in knowing myself thing I mentioned earlier. I do like that about myself. I’ve had these thoughts for so long that there’s comfort in knowing where they are and how to get there when I need to. It’s a lot like coming home after work and slipping into my chair. For those that know me well, you know what I mean.

So Happy Birthday to me in a few days. I think I’m ok with it. If not, I’ll just do some searching inside to find the most comfortable way to deal with it and park myself there for a while. Maybe light up a stogie, have a glass of wine and talk to myself for a while. Yeah, there’s comfort there.