Turn No. 59 around the sun has begun (a few days ago). Another year of life. Another year of memories to be made. Another year of lessons to learn. Another year closer to retirement. Another year closer to remaking my life in another country. God willing, of course. None of these things are guaranteed. The most a person can do is plan and hope. “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.”
On every birthday, just like on every New Year, I do this involuntary unconscious check-in with myself. How do I feel? How is life going? Am I satisfied? What’s important to me? What’s missing? Do I really need it? What’s making me happy? Can I get more of it? Where have I been? Where am I going? What do I want? Who do I want in my life? Who needs to go? Who do I miss? Why? Should I do something about it or not? I don’t ask myself all these questions every year, and this process isn’t like going through a checklist. It’s more like a free-flowing thought river in my head during the 24 hours of my birthday. I also think of previous birthdays, all the people in my life who celebrated them with me but who are no longer alive. Like my father, for example, who died on my birthday. My sadness from that serendipitous occurrence dissipates more and more each year. The mind is a resilient thing, after all. But I do think of him in the early hours of my birthday, which is when he died. I talk to him first before I go to sleep. He’s always the first person with whom I communicate on my birthday. I think of my friends and relatives who have passed too. I think of my mother, who is aging rapidly. If there’s something I get sad about now on my birthday, it’s this. Thinking of how strong, vibrant, and independent she used to be, and how frustrated, dependent, and immobile she is now. On one of my future birthdays, maybe even the next one, she’ll be gone. She refuses to travel any more, so we’re in the process of trying to get her to move from northern Florida–where she’s by herself, and which is a total PITA for us to get to–to where my sister lives. This way we could see her more often and spend our holidays with her–the few she has left. But she’s stubborn and fears change, so this is like trying to get a donkey up a mountain. It’s a process.
All of these thoughts happen because I’m getting older, but it’s the visual that really wakes me up about aging. That bald head and salt and pepper beard I see in my reflection each day. Those well-earned wrinkles on my forehead and the ones on the sides of my eyes because I smile and laugh a lot. They all slap me in the face on a daily basis. Who the fuck is this guy? Where did all those years go?
Mirror mirror on the wall…
In recent years, I’ve taken trips overseas on my birthday and celebrated it alone. Last year, I went to Prague and did a hike in the Czech and German mountains on my birthday with total strangers. This year, due to my recent trips to Brazil and Argentina, I did a shorter trip and spent my birthday with my sister, niece, nephew, and M., which was a nice change. It’s quite nice to actually be around people you love on your birthday! My sister is a year and a half younger than me and was my first friend in life, so whenever we’re around each other, we laugh our asses off. Who knows our parents better than us? Who knows the other person better than anyone else? Who has shared more together? No one. It was also good for M. to see her cousins, whom she’s really close to. My sister sprung for an amazing birthday dinner at this high end restaurant where the food was as good as anything I had in Rio or Buenos Aires. When we were done, they brought out a dessert with a single candle on it, and of course, my sister sang “Happy Birthday” at the top of her lungs to embarrass the fuck out of me, as if we had just finished eating a cheese pizza at Chuck E. Cheese instead of haute cuisine at a fine dining establishment. Then she recorded my reaction on her phone–me frantically waving my hands telling her to tone it the F down–and sent it to my other sister and the rest of my family so they could laugh their asses off at my expense. Good times!
The next night she took me to a “pickle ball social” at this really nice casual bar/restaurant/pickle ball court across town, where you drink, meet new people, and play pickle ball in a round robin with total strangers. It’s actually a great idea–way better than the apps. I’m taken, of course, so her main purpose was to introduce me to pickle ball, which she’s addicted to, but I’ve never played in my life. I think she was secretly hoping I would clown myself. At first, I sort of did, because I had to get used to the paddle, which is hard as a rock and not padded at all, like in ping-pong, and the ball, which is this hardened, oversized whiffleball with holes. There’s a bit of a learning curve, especially with the scoring and where you need to stand when you’re serving and receiving, but I picked it up pretty quickly. We played doubles, and I’m proud to say that this 58 year-old dinosaur actually held his own against more experienced players who were 20 years younger, including this one “try hard” dude who was 37 and totally jacked. (We talked to him afterwards, and he ended up being totally cool.) Just don’t ask me about how my body felt the next day because I was sore as fuck! The thing about getting older is your mind tells you you can still do the same things you did when you were younger, and your muscle memory does the rest, but it all comes at a price. Still, I was proud of myself, and everyone said I did pretty well for my first time. I think I’m going to get myself a paddle now and see if there’s a beginner’s league where I live.
My sister is really established here, has a beautiful house, friends, and a great social life. She’s trying to convince me to move down here at some point, which even M. is on board with. It would be great to be closer to her and her kids, it’s way more affordable than where I live, and everyone here is super nice and polite, but it’s just not the right fit for me. It’s too hot and humid for one thing, the traffic blows 80% of the time, and it’s way too suburban for my liking. The main city also has no soul at all and zero appeal to me. More to the point, as previously documented, I have other plans once M. graduates from college. I’m getting the fuck out of here, at least for half the year, and moving somewhere where I feel more at home and more connected with people and myself. This is my plan for now.
Then again, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 58 years, it’s that I can have all the plans in the world, and they can change in surprisingly contradictory ways. This happened to me quite recently, which has spurred some incredible new experiences that enriched my life immensely. Regardless of what happens in the future, I’m committed to enjoying the journey, and learning and growing as much as possible, as always. On to 59.
