Jeber’s

Another Day After Groundhog Day

Fifty-six years ago I caused my mom a few hours of intense physical pain. I don’t know how that compared to the frequent pain I caused during the next 50 years or so, but at least I caused her that particular pain only once, and I was a totally innocent participant. I wasn’t responsible for her condition.

Birthdays are pointless between 50 and 60. And not just birthdays. I read this the other day,

There is no traditional symbol of the Fifty Sixth Wedding Anniversary

OK, that’s probably because so few people can actually stay together for 56 years. The two couples who have reached this milestone couldn’t agree on a traditional gift. Health insurance, maybe.

There were only a couple of times the fact that the 3rd was tomorrow and it is my birthday crossed my mind today. It’s just not an important milestone. The only thing significant about it at all is that it’s 29 years longer than the age I thought I’d be when I died. I felt, for some reason, assured that I would die at 27. I believed that for a number of years, from my early teens up to the day I turned 28.

Beneath my obvious relief I was completely disorientated. Shit, now what? It was a little late to be making life-altering goals. I’m not supposed to still be wondering what I want to be when I grow up at 28. And now here I am at 56, with no better idea what it is I’m supposed to be doing with my life, if indeed there is a purpose to life. Philosophically I don’t accept the idea that there is an over-riding, beyond-ourselves purpose to life at all. But practically I acknowledge the comfort in thinking there might be. Not that it makes much difference one way or the other. If there is a purpose I’m in total ignorance of it, so it might as well not exist.

Turning 28 had another profound impact on my future. It was an event that killed any chance I ever had to be a professional prognosticator. I would never be able to convince anyone I could see, let alone predict, the future. Anyone who has watched “Dead Like Me” will understand how I felt upon turning 28. All my theories about my own life were shown, rather obviously, to be wrong. Not “slightly off” but totally incorrect. My mantra from the age of 28 to this day is, “What the hell do I know?”

Thirty is a socially significant age, forty more so, But forty is also the age at which significant “milestone” birthdays begin to occur only every decade until 70 or so. Only children and seniors consider every year significant. In the “middle ages” it takes a decade to effect much change in a person’s life. There isn’t a hell of a lot of difference between the me of today and the 52 year old me. Four more years? Maybe something will be significant about that age. All I can say is that I’m pleased to still be able to entertain the notion that I might get to find out. Gives me something to look forward to.

Now there’s something that sucks about getting older: the older you get, the less you have to look forward to and the more you have to look back at. You tend to spend more time in reflection and retrospection than anticipation. As someone curious about life that can be frustrating. I’m one of those rather dissatisfied with the period of human development I was chosen to be born into. I had no choice in the selection process, I was never consulted for my opinion or given options. My choice would have been further into the future. I’m fully anticipating a future that I’m also having to acknowledge I will most likely never get to see come about. Some days that really pisses me off. My generation had the energy to really effect a profound change on society in positive ways and we pissed that energy and determination away. We failed to realize our goals then spent the rest of our time making excuses for our failures. That’s not to say my generation didn’t have profound effects on society, it’s just that those effects were less important and less satisfying than our early goals.

At least I got to realize a lot of the goals I had early in life. I kind of rushed all the experiences I could into the first 27 years of my life. I got to do things I never thought I’d actually get to do, life had its very interesting moments. I’ve come to accept rather than regret those times I can recall that were not my proudest moments, I’ve come to see the positive benefits that some of the negative events produced. I’ve proven, if only to myself, that one can fail, more than once, and still find a reason to go on, keep making mistakes and enjoying the times you don’t. Some say that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. They forget to add that this only applies to the young. To those well past childhood that which doesn’t kill you only makes you numb, immune, no longer amused.

Celebrate “my day” by having some fun today. Take a few moments to do something silly, something random, something childish (unless you are a child, then just carry on). Best gift I could get.