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It happens that this year I have the day off on my birthday but, rather than doing what a normal person might do given the opportunity (drink mimosas or watch a hockey game in their underwear), I have decided to make some coffee, clear my desk of loose papers while straightening out a miniature LEGO Millennium Falcon that one of the cats knocked over, and start the day by staring at the blank page in hopes of writing something profound.
This year I am celebrating my fortieth birthday. As the average age of death in Canada is 82.14 years, I’m at the mid-point in my life. At times I feel as if I’m faking adulthood and trying my best to appear in control, while other times I feel like an old man every time I have to sit down to tie my shoes (though that might be from running in the wilds of West Creston and not stretching afterward.) Straddling the two halves of my life, I have to admit that I am content with the way everything has unfolded. I am even optimistic about the future. It hasn’t always been that way. When I was in my early-30s, I adopted a cat to counter my birthday blues. I did the same thing the next year. Luckily, it wasn’t a decade-long trend.
As I get up to flip the record on the turntable, I begin to think about my journey so far. It hasn’t always been an easy one, and rarely did I travel in a straight line—literally or figuratively. While I try not to dwell on the past, I do want to acknowledge all those who guided me to this point, not only family and friends and teachers but also countless writers, philosophers, poets, artists, musicians, and (probably) the occasional scientist. Most of all, my darling wife and two boys have made me the man I am today. Because their interests are different than mine, I have experienced things I wouldn’t have otherwise.
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I hope I have done well as a father. I admit I have spent more time typing on a keyboard than playing catch at the park, and I probably should have organized bike rides or camping trips or holidays to Disneyland, but I hope that living in southern Arabia, driving across the jungles of the Yucatan Peninsula, and exploring the coastal rainforests have made up for it. If nothing else, both boys are fiercely independent and seem to be comfortable with wherever we end up in the world.
My oldest son, who was painfully taciturn as a teenager, has developed into an incredible cook and has recently landed a position at one of the top restaurants in Victoria. Even more exciting is that he’s listening to jazz and putting his records back in alphabetical order. My youngest—now entering his teenage years—often takes the opportunity to explain the subtle nuances of curling and the brachistochrone curve when we head out of town for the day. I usually have no idea what he’s talking about, but I try.
I never thought I would ever write that I would one day miss rushing through grocery stores with the boys in shopping carts or watching countless episodes of Spongebob Squarepants or reading another bedtime story because they wouldn’t go to sleep. While it seemed those moments would go on forever, they are now only memories and I can only hope that one day I will experience them again if Adam or Nicholas have children of their own (though I’m in no rush).
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I hope I have done well as a husband. I admit I have spent more time typing on a keyboard than cooking dinner, fixing toilets, or snuggling on the couch while watching modern art documentaries, but we’re still together after fifteen years so I guess I’ve done something right—or Paula is just really good at putting up with me. Though we are interested in different things and often travel independently, we both know that we are there for each other. We support (and occasionally constructively criticize) each other, and we celebrate each other’s victories as much as we help each other overcome disappointments.
If luck plays a role in life, then I have been extremely lucky when it has comes to family. I used to joke that being married was like eating Cheerios every morning for breakfast, and I wasn’t sure how someone could possibly do that. But being married to Paula is like a variety pack of Cheerios: Honey Nut, Multi Grain, Apple Cinnamon, and many more. I open my eyes and feel blessed every morning to be waking up next to her.
I haven’t been quite so lucky in my professional life. When I followed in my father’s footsteps and became a teacher, he told me that my biggest frustrations wouldn’t stem from the students or even their parents but from the other professionals in the building. A man of misanthropic tendencies, I wasn’t sure what to make of his advice. Of course, he was right. Because I refused to play along, I have not had a typical teaching career. Rather than finding a job and remaining in that same job for thirty-five years, I have instead traveled to amazing places all over the world. I have had the opportunity to pursue writing and train for (and complete) a marathon. I can look back on my life and feel I made the most of my time. I now know that a winding road is far more fascinating than a straight one.
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I hope I have done well as a teacher. I hope I have guided my students towards a love of learning. I hope I have, in some small way, shown them how to walk a path towards peace and understanding. I hope they continue to think critically and question the world around them.
I can’t wait to see what the future holds. I am excited to once again have a teaching position in a positive, supportive environment with amazing staff and students. I have several shorter pieces in print and online and look forward to the email that my full-length travel memoir will be published. I can’t wait to travel internationally again (maybe India next) and I can’t wait to learn more about different cultures – to explore natural wonders and archeological sites; to meet new people and try new food; and to laugh with those that share my sense of humour though they may not share my language.
I have never felt the need for approval, or felt that I should conform. I have too much going on inside my head to worry about what people think of me, or whether they are offended by something I say or write. I don’t ever write with the intention to offend, and sometimes I want tell people that just because they’re offended doesn’t mean they’re right. But offended people don’t like that, and I find it’s best not to poke crazy. I have decided, more than ever, to surround myself with positive people. When I find myself surrounded by negative people, I just leave.
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At forty, I’m okay with who I am. I’m more comfortable sitting alone in a café—mumbling to myself as I sip my cappuccino—than I am playing team sports or attending car shows, and that’s okay. I know I will never win Mr. Universe; Hollywood won’t be calling me for their next superhero movie. I may lose ten pounds if I take up marathon training again, but I don’t enjoy going to the gym or doing yoga or swimming laps, and probably never will. I know I wear old man clothes—Irish sweaters and tweed coats and herringbone flat caps—and I don’t care if I’m not following the latest fashion trends. The older I get, the more I give myself permission to be silly, to get excited about the latest James Bond movie, or play retro video games, or sing along to stupid pop songs in the kitchen mirror when I’m sweeping. I’ve given myself permission to do all that, and so many other things.
The first stanza of Donald Justice’s poem “Men at Forty” begins: Men at forty/ Learn to close softly/ The doors to rooms they will not be/ Coming back to.” I hope I’m not closing too many doors. But, if I am, I hope I’m not doing so softly. I hope I’m doing so while singing and drumming along on my belly, or eating ketchup chips with ink-stained fingers from my fountain pen, or with my head buried in a book as I research my next adventure.
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Photo credit: Getty Images