Thoughts From Six Feet Away: Forever Young

When we were kids, one of our greatest desires was to grow up and be an adult. Music was written about it, especially from the Beach Boys, who bemoaned their youthful fate, singing about when they’d “grow up to be a man,” and “wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, and we didn’t have to wait so long?”

But I learned over time that the desire to be older, like the desire to have money, is not about the thing itself, but rather what it represents. Money has no inherent value, but it can be traded for a wide variety of desires, from homes to cars to exotic vacations. In the same manner, being an adult means no longer being beholden to the banes of childhood existence: curfews, early bedtimes, rated-R movies, or sitting at the main table at Thanksgiving.

By the time we realize that growing older is a sadistic Faustian deal, it’s too late. Now, as adults, we engage in a line of thought we’d have considered unthinkable as a child – wishing we were young again. We long for summer vacations, staying at home when obligations draw us out, and gasp! Going to bed early. Then, when we reach middle age, we start considering things we never knew about as children, things that caused us to make fun of old people before. News flash to those younger folks out there – old people eat at 4:30 so they don’t go to bed with indigestion at night. Despite my healthy dose of daily omeprazole, if I eat too late, I find myself reaching for the TUMS with a regularity that makes me consider buying stock in the company. I also used to wonder why old people got up so early, and then I learned the horrific reality – you get to an age where it hurts to sleep. You have to toss like a pig on a spit to keep from waking up with a hitch in your getalong. As a man specifically, I’m starting to understand the wisdom of Depends; maybe there’s a point where peeing your pants is preferable to getting up every two hours to use the bathroom.

I can’t do much about the physical realities that come with the effects of aging on my body, but I can control my mindset. Even though my body sometimes feels like I fought at Gettysburg, I seem to have the same mental maturity of the 12-year-old version of me. And that is the challenge I put to anyone who reads this: your body may degrade, but don’t allow your brain to follow suit. Dream of bigger things. Why do we wait until we’re dying to figure out how to truly live? How about we work on our bucket lists before we’re cocking our leg back for that final kick? I’ve experienced enough loss in the past year that I no longer feel comfortable putting things off. My family are huge roller coaster enthusiasts, especially my son. Sometimes, he plays me coaster videos that cause me to say aloud, “you gotta be kidding me!” Yet, I know that I’m not satisfied being he grumpy old man on the sidelines. On a recent trip out west, I conquered rides that make people nauseous just by hearing them described. Those surges of adrenaline were wonderful, reminding me of a time when my heart was young, and when my eyes were wide open to the possibility of the future, rather than shut tight in an attempt to avoid the grim realities of an imperfect world inhabited by imperfect people. I once had a friend ask me why I kept setting goals and striving for new things. “Haven’t you accomplished enough?” they asked. And my answer is simple…no. I fully intend to die with crap left to do on the list. As I’ve said in past blog posts, there is nothing more beautiful than evolution.

A word for those with kids out there: if you come across someone trying to recapture their youth, stop thinking that they’re stealing from your kids. I was recently at Disneyland, waiting for a parade that my daughter wanted to see. There were two young ladies near us who had secured a prime spot. As is usually the case, a family wandered up at the last minute, and the mother turned haughty when these girls wouldn’t give up their spot for her kids. Passive-aggressively, the mother loudly whispered, “These things are for kids. I guess they don’t care that kids can’t see.” I was behaving for the sake of my family, but I wanted to speak up. No, lady. These sorts of things are for everyone, even some of us who are trying to feel young again. If you cared so much about your kids’ ability to see the parade, you wouldn’t have strode up at the last minute. If I’m doing a “once in a lifetime” thing, I’m not ceding my position to people who have their whole life ahead of them. Now, I’m not advocating for stealing autographed baseballs from children, but I am suggesting that, for the most part, there aren’t kid things versus adult things; there are only things. Allow someone the space to feel young again, even if you don’t understand it. Last I checked, minding your business is free.

I somehow managed to pull off a unique feat: sounding like a grumpy old man while speaking about feeling young again. Some days, I’m just a walking paradox! Do something for the fun of it. Waste time and stop worrying about all the stuff you need to get done. Set a goal that scares you a little bit. Laugh. Eat some of the unhealthy food. Live like you’ll die tomorrow and learn like you’ll never die. And, as always, be excellent to each other, and…