Not funny like a clown, like they amuse me, like they make me laugh. Just, you know, funny, as in strange, as in they really are no different from any other day, yet we treat them as signposts to mark where we have been and where we are going. The reason, like so many other things, was best encapsulated by noted philosopher Dr. Seuss: “Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you!”
Which is why I am waxing poetic about birthdays. As of Tuesday, I became more me-er than ever before because I turned 50.
I know, I know, that’s really old. At least it sounded old when I was young — and my kids are certain that it is positively ancient. After all, I grew up in the olden days before home computers and cable TV and devices that allow you to hold thousands of songs in the palm of your hand. And when “It’s a Wonderful Life” comes on TV, I still can half-convince the 6-year-old that the world used to be in black-and-white.
Despite all that, I don’t really feel any different than when I was 49 years and 364 days old. I haven’t noticed my knees suddenly starting to buckle or my back suddenly starting to ache — except when I try to get out of bed in the morning; 50, after all, is the new 30. Or so I tell myself.
Turning 50, however, does offer an occasion to ponder the aging process and the uniquely human angst that comes with it. As Linda Flanagan wrote for HuffingtonPost.com upon reaching a half-century: “What bothers me more about this birthday is the stake in the ground related to how much time I have left. Unless you’re a 90-pound Japanese fisherman, at 50 you’ve likely crossed life’s median.”
Being neither 90 pounds nor a Japanese fisherman, this point hits home. The fact is that sometime in the past five or 10 or 15 years, I likely crossed the midpoint of my life. This awareness of our own mortality, it dawns on me, is why we celebrate birthdays. Maybe “Happy Birthday,” the most oft-sung song in the English language, is not so much a celebration as a funeral dirge to be repeated annually as we move inextricably closer to death.
But turning 50 doesn’t make me feel old. When my daughter turned 18 a couple weeks ago, that made me feel old. When I received an AARP card in the mail, that made me feel old. When David Letterman retired, that made me feel old, serving as a reminder that my adolescence and young adulthood have long since passed.
Embrace your oldness
And that’s OK. I find it to be Quixotic that humans incessantly attempt to fool the aging process. There’s nothing new about that; ancient Egyptians reportedly used henna to mask graying hair, and the ancient Chinese used a variety of herbs to keep themselves looking and feeling youthful. But the guess is that they all died anyway.
So, as I embrace my oldness, I come to the realization that what’s important is not so much the number of birthdays you have had but the number of things that keep you young. For me, it’s my kids and a wife who is youthful beyond her years. It’s music, which provides a touchstone to the past but always offers something new and exciting and energizing if you are willing to seek it out. And it’s an optimism that the future will be even brighter than the past. There is nothing sadder than somebody who rages against change and clings to a world that is changing despite their best efforts.
Through it all, I retain an unshakable faith that I’m not getting older, I’m getting smarter — something my 18-year-old self never would have expected. Which brings up a quote from noted philosopher Goldie Hawn: “You have to truly grasp that everybody ages. Everybody dies. There is no turning back the clock. So the question in life becomes: What are you going to do while you’re here?”
Happy birthday to me. Now I have to go ice my knees and stretch out my back.
