July 19, 2016
I'm not taking growing old very well.— leftsider (@Leftsider) May 7, 2016
I don’t think I ever imagined what life would be like at thirty-seven. My teens were looking forward, but not this far; my twenties were about the moment. My thirties have been a slow bending of my will until I, hunched and warped, sit in a permanent position of looking back at the life I let slip away. Already I find it so hard to imagine looking forward to anything to come.
My inclinations have support:
Asked my 86yo grandma when she felt her best: "Anytime before 40; after 40 the wheels seemed like they fell off." 😂😩 pic.twitter.com/9BJ2BHu2OY— leftsider (@Leftsider) July 6, 2016
But seriously, I do find myself in a bit of an odd place, having moved in my early thirties to a place where I had no existing relationships and my industry is in a love affair with the young and daring. I’ve had serious conversations with others in my age group about the number of startups we’ll be able to work in after the ones we’re in—not because we’re tired, but because ageism would complicate our ability to be hired, to connect with our teams.
I also don’t have a ton of resources to identify what I’m supposed to do next. How does a 37-year old dress? Where does he shop? Does he still listen to top 40? What are his pastimes? Besides his children, seeing as I’ve not pursued that option. Where is the guild of middle-aged adventurers? I mean, the guild that isn’t also the creepy old guy association.
I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own. Guess that’s as good a reason to fire up the old blog as any.