Forty

When I was a teenager, I figured up how old I’d be on January 1, 2000: 32. That was old to me then—not old like a “senior citizen,” but old like “full adult.” Thirty to 32 was about as old as I could picture myself ever being. Beyond that was just not something I could conceive.

Even as I got older, in my 20s, 30-something was just not something I thought about. When I turned 30, the concept felt so alien. I wasn’t ready to be 30, yet. I wasn’t finished with my 20s. Now that I’m turning 40, I still feel like I’m not finished with my 20s. When I think of myself, I picture myself as in my late 20s. When I see people in their 30s and 40s, I think of them as “older than me.”

After my teenage years, I’ve never been one to dwell on my age. I’ve never been happy or afraid to get older. There’s really nothing magical, joyous, important, notable, or depressing about aging from 24 to 25, or 36 to 37. But I must admit to a bit of surprise when the tens digit changes. It’s not an enlightening moment, but rather just a moment of “Huh? How is this happening already?”

I’ve never cared about cakes and gifts on my birthdays. Birthdays, to me, have always mostly just been an excuse to have my own day, to do what I want without having to ask or answer to anyone about what I’ll do. I’ve usually spent the day doing things I don’t get a chance to do very often. I’ve spent birthdays going to comic book shops, to game stores, writing, reading books, watching movies, playing computer games, etc. It’s very enjoyable to spend 8 to 12 hours doing something I really like to do, with no interruptions, no questions, no one expecting anything from me. It’s just a full day of totally self-centered thoughts and activities.

So, here I am at 40 years old. Physically, I’m starting to feel over 29, but mentally, I still think under 30. I still enjoy doing the things I did at 15: gaming, comic books, movies, hanging out with friends (talking about gaming, comic books, and movies). I probably have more disposable income now than I had total income at 20, but I have only a tiny fraction of the disposable time that I had at 20.

Turning 40 is doing nothing for me. There’s no enlightenment, no epiphany, no feeling of having reached a summit. It’s just another day. I’m holding out hope that turning 42 will give me the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com