I just turned 55. This year I decided to throw a small party for friends I haven’t seen for ages, friends I care about. Except my gay mother wasn’t able to join, so I might have another party coming soon.
The day after the party, I felt tired. And to me, that sums up being 55 — I’m old.
Age is just a number, it’s a big fat lie.
Choose your fighter. If you are a big Jane Fonda fan, she would tell you that age is just a number and that she feels like a very young 86-year-old.
She even said in an interview she would only want a 20-year-old lover because she doesn’t like old skin, which is both funny and creepy, but she’s 86, let it pass — you woke people.
Or you could believe Cher when she said she hated being old, and at 77, Cher has an active sex life now that she has Alexander ‘AE’ Edwards, 38, as a boyfriend.
Both were very active when they were young; I wasn’t. And neither am I a rich celebrity, so as an ordinary person, I can say that age is definitely more than a number.
Just look at Joe Biden.
Now that I’m 55
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I can’t remember. That’s the thing, I can’t remember a lot of things. I don’t remember when it first dawned on me that the world belongs to the young, and as I get older, there is no doubt in my heart that this is true.
I’m not saying the world is only for the young. Older people have space on this earth; besides, we probably need less oxygen to breathe.
Yes, there are outliers — those who found fame, fortune, or whatever past their prime. I even read about the 105-year-old who just graduated from Stanford. Good for her.
And did you hear about the leaked emails between Peter Thiel and Mark Zuckerberg? It was all about the boomers staying in their seats of power too long, and these two tech bros want to change things by 2030.
It’s time to talk about me and my future. To be honest, it isn’t only now that I am 55 that I have averse feelings about aging. It was shortly after Mom died and the pandemic made me think about what is left for me to do.
At my mom’s coffin, I asked if Mom could take me with her, as I don’t have anything that I can imagine myself being excited about in the future.
Months later, I met my partner, and a few days from now we will celebrate three years of being together, with our two fur babies, and now with our rescued kitten.
And yet, deep inside me, there is very little drive to do the things I would have wanted for myself when I was young.
Whenever I ask myself, do I still want to travel, the answer is that it is a big hassle. Even just thinking of planning a trip makes me tired, and I can’t even leave Phi and Crocker for a long time.
More money? Even if I end up with millions, what would I do with it? Although I can probably start an animal shelter with it.
Even romance doesn’t excite me as much as it did when I first came out or really fell for a man.
Yes, I have a fine man as a partner, who loves Phi and Crocker, but it isn’t the kind of crazy love that we find ourselves crying about when we were young.
As for how I look, well, let’s just say people greeted me on my 55th birthday with “You look young, a young 54-year-old man.”
It’s funny, but it stings.
And my weight, just finishing the leftover cakes and food from the party, I already gained five pounds. So, I’m back to where I started. I need to lose 20 pounds again.
Final words
“What was once before you — an exciting, mysterious future — is now behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone’s experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone’s everyone. — Charlie Kaufman, Synecdoche, New York
One of my favorite books is Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. I know that once we get to the stage when we can no longer find our meaning, our life has reached the end.
As I look back at the past 55 years of my existence, I wish I had spent less time examining my life and done more things that would have given me happiness or made more mistakes.
Finally, all I wish is that I smiled more when I was younger because now that I’m 55, all I see when I smile are laugh lines, and it doesn’t look great in photos.
Just kidding (not). Live your life!
Thank you for reading.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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Photo credit: iStock.com
I didn’t feel old at 55, nor 60, 65, or 70. I entered Covid middle-aged and emerged beginning to feel old. My 76th year finally saw my chest drop into my stomach for the dad/grandad bod and shoulder bursitis limiting my gym workouts even more than during Covid. But luckily my mind is still good and I’m writing up a storm, being published and even receiving the occasional award. I didn’t start writing until my 60s. What keeps me going is possibility.