Before I start, I just want to state that as my third fourth decade approaches its end, I admit I am going to miss my thirties. I'm not sure it's been a happier experience than in my twenties, but it's certainly been a more emotionally stable one. The best thing about your thirties is that you're still relatively young enough to do anything you want, but old enough to know the difference between fun and unintentional suicide. How most of us survived our teens and twenties, only God knows, and the Deity ain't talkin'.
I've always believed that wisdom is the sum of your fuck-ups (presuming you actually learn from your mistakes like a normal mammal), and as I approach 39, I confess I'm a wise gentleman indeed. Much of the wisdom I've gathered, gleaned from my various miscues of the last four decades, has made me a wily scamp, and I expect only growth in this personal industry for the foreseeable future. I am, of course, delighted by such prospects.
My attitude toward the idiocy of the world around me has changed considerably. The rebellion I displayed toward such social tendencies when I was a college student was so over-the-top and heavy-handed, I believe I contributed to the idiocy rather than against it. My annoying bluntness has been polished over the years and thus more endearing. I've learned the value of quiet and subtlety even as American society veers away from those values. Still, I suspect I'll become even blunter in my old age, but I will have mastered timing by then.
AN INTERVIEW WITH MY AGES
Q: What do you thank the good Lord for every time you get out of bed?
Age 19: God? Feh! I have no use for gods!
Age 24: My fabulous intellect and literary talent
Age 39: A job.
Age 69: Morning wood.
Q: What makes you laugh the loudest?
Age 9: Mork & Mindy
Age 19: Monty Python
Age 39: Lewis Black
Age 69: the obituaries.
Q: Are you gay?
Age 19: No way, man! I like me the chicks! No gay here!
Age 29: Uh, no.
Age 39: None of yer damned business.
Age 69: Pull down my pants and find out.
Q: What do you like listening to while kicking back?
Age 19: Nine Inch Nails
Age 29: Ani DiFranco
Age 39: NPR
Age 69: My lungs.
Q: How many pills do you take daily?
Age 24: None
Age 34: Two
Age 39: Six
Age 69: 63,412.
Q: What do you want to do when you grow up?
Age 9: I dunno
Age 29: An incredibly tangled knot of utterly incompatible interests that come as close to a career goal as my hands under Tina Fey's brassiere.
Age 39: I've trimmed my ideas down to one or two goals.
Age 69: Fuck if I know.
I have eight days left before I enter my fortieth year. It amazes me how fast it's approaching, especially in comparison to my childhood, when a similar length of time before my birthday was an eternity. Part of it is due to desire, of course: back then, my birthday was my favorite day of the year, while nowadays it ranks just above International Chicken Wing Day (July 2nd, in case you're curious) among my faves. However, I think the most logical reason is how we perceive lengths of time. When I was five years old, for example, one year was twenty percent of my life. When I turn forty next December, the same amount of time will be less than three percent of my life. And those years mentally shrink even more as we age. If age didn't slow them down, the elderly might choose to do so anyway; anything to get the world to stop spinning so fast.
I've asked many of my friends if they would like to relive their youth; all found the concept repugnant. I believe they're sincere, but I think they see only part of the question. Before I moved to Chicago eight years ago, not long after my divorce became final and my life had pretty much crumbled, I stated my strongest desire to the therapist I was seeing at the time: that I wanted to experience the world with a child's eyes and an adult's wisdom. As my 39th birthday approaches, I still try to fulfill that desire, and hopefully with a little more time I'll have nailed that sucker.
