Tag: aging

Aging, turning 50, and vanishing life hope

In a few months, I will turn 50. At a time when my mindset has hit yet another new low. And this one is scarier than ever.

As the mid-life crisis continues to rage on, it’s easy to continue looking back at the troubled existence that I’ve usually had (and how the downhill trend has really accelerated in the last 15 years):

Age 20: Depression is starting to quickly form. The final stages of competitive spirit and possible happiness. But no lost hope.

Age 25: Loner lifestyle becoming established. A lot of unusually big ups and down for someone that age. Becoming clear that the depression is embedded pretty deep, despite the initial reason for its severity now being gone for good. Still hope.

Age 30: The height of career success and adult pride. Though still not mentally healthy enough. Odd amount of new anger appearing sometimes. Hope still not a problem. Despite much more lifetime success than failure at that point, a somewhat tenuous grasp on it.

Age 35: Success vanished. This time for longer than ever before, and therefore (for the first time) wondering if it can be regained. These first lingering failures starting to weigh on how you feel about yourself. Hope starts to become tarnished.

Age 40: Failure has become a staple. Not yet too bothered by loss of youth, but naturally aware of it beginning to happen. For the first time, no clear definition of career future either. Negatives about life situation are now easily outnumbering the positives like never before. Hope becoming shaky.

Age 45: At this point, the failure has lasted enough years that you’re very close to accepting it as your fate. Youth obviously completely gone (and having a tough time accepting it), so midlife crisis in full effect. Hope hanging on by a thread.

And now….almost 50: Failures have reached more damaging levels than ever expected. Some very useful 9 to 5 job experiences leading to possible new opportunities for awhile to salvage something about life, but being too unstable and miserable to take much advantage of it (especially since I’m still spoiled by all the years of supporting myself). Feeling like every year is aging you by a few.

But the worst part: for reasons I won’t elaborate on now (but have started to mention in recent entries), any hope of ever improving myself or my life is now mostly gone.

That’s what is so scary. Naturally without that hope, my depressive state could reach newly dangerous levels. I’ve always been able to function moderately with it, but now that might not last. It feels like something bigger may give at any point. And if it does, those new depths could lead to problems that’d be that much more drastic.

Regardless of the consequences, I don’t think I can stop this. So I just wait to see what happens.

And if I’ll be able to survive it. Literally and figuratively.

Other new middle-aged fun

Flashback to sometime in 2013. A good buddy and a more youthful looking 38 year old me were out somewhere one night. We were talking about how we had maybe 5 to 7 years left to look and feel, well, “young”.

My friends, that time has come.

In the years since that conversation, my skin (while still youthful) has gotten worse. I now have the torso of a guy in his 50s. And it’s already become more difficult to stay in decent condition.

During that interim, I hadn’t even changed my dating/sex life habits much yet. It was still possible to attract a wide age range of the women I’d like to; in a period of a few months, I might hook up with both a 22 year old and a 42 year old. Now, as you can imagine, that has changed. You know it’s inevitable at some point, but it’s still not something you look forward to.

Like this afternoon, for example. I ride down the elevator with the neighbor across the hall. She is in her mid 20s, and both sweet and cute as could be. And I can tell that she doesn’t look at me the same as someone similar might have 5-10 years ago.

And then the best part lately: at my grandmother’s visitation recently, I pull up in the car with my mother and roll down the window. A guy from the funeral home walks up and asks “are you the son?”

Ouch.

Now, mind you, given the youthful facial genes that I’m fortunate to have, he should never have even considered that I could be the son of a 91 year old. Especially since my gray hair is still very modest for 45; it’s going to be awhile before I even reach salt-n-pepper status. But still….for that to even come out of his mouth. Good god.

Sooo to everyone in their 20s and 30s reading this: enjoy it and take advantage. It seems like you’ll be a fairly young adult for a crazy long time, but believe me, it’ll end faster than you think.