Fortysomething

Me and my dad in Los Angeles ,1971; the year I was born and he turned 28. 

Yesterday was my birthday. (Thank you, and yes, I got your gift. It was just what I wanted! But I got two of them. So I’m going to return one and use the money to buy some new shoes. But I’m totally keeping the one you gave me. I’m returning the other guy’s gift.)

I am now 42 years old. Not a huge milestone birthday; however I can confidently report there is no midlife crisis on the horizon. (I check every six months; so I’m cleared until September.)

I’m actually quite fine being in my 40s. The thing that really stands out to me is being able to so clearly remember when my dad was 42. It was 1985. I was 14. My son, Garren, will be 14 this year; so the age gap is about the same.

I think about that decade for my dad and me. Ten years of milestones or rites of passage for me, all while my dad was in his 40s.

In 1983 I started junior high school, became a deacon, and received the Aaronic Priesthood. I think I also started officially using deodorant and loved watching The Outsiders. And my dad turned 40.

In 1985 I started high school, began attending early-morning seminary, went on week-long Scouting high adventures, played on the high-school water polo team...and my dad was in his 40s.

From 1987 to 1988 I became a priest, started driving, started dating, had my first kiss, got my first and second speeding tickets, went to my first U2 concert, went on a week-long surfing trip to Ensenada, Mexico, moved to Hawaii with my family, went skydiving…and my dad was in his 40s.

1989 to 1990 I had graduated high school, started college at BYU, received the Melchizedek Priesthood, and left on a mission to Portugal…and my dad was in his 40s.

In 1992 I came home from my mission and started back up at college…and my dad was in his 40s.

I am sure my dad experienced new things and had his own life alterations during his 40s, but for an egocentric teenager, it seemed like my world changed a thousand times over, and all while my dad was in his 40s. My dad will be 70 this year; but somewhere in my mind, he will always be in his 40s. And that’s the decade I am in now. And for some reason, that is what kind of blows my mind.

Countdown to 40

On Thursday I will be 40 years old.

You may be wondering how I’m feeling about this, the last few hours of my 30s. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you have ADD and started to wonder how I was feeling, but then you were distracted by an incoming Tweet from Charlie Sheen. That’s understandable. 

Truth is, I’m actually quite fine. And that’s a little disappointing to me, because I had really been looking forward to a Mid-Life Crisis of Biblical proportions, ladies and gentleman. Like a “checking out of this so-called town, buying a yacht, sailing to Italy, writing my novel, then adapting it into a screenplay, and eating a mountain of canolli for breakfast while my kids form a folk band and become street performers to support our family” kind of a Mid-Life Crisis. Go big or go home, I say.

That’s what I was looking forward to.  But here I am, not rocking the boat.

And it’s not that I’ve completed my Bucket List or climbed every mountain. It’s not that I am exceptionally accomplished or successful or wealthy. It’s not even that I “don’t feel 40.” Oh, I do. But I’m fine with that.

Aside from wishing I lived somewhere more tropical, I feel ridiculously blessed to have the life I do. It is better than I could have crafted in my mind at any age. It is certainly better than anything I deserve.

In my humble opinion, it is my privilege to know some of the greatest people currently residing on this planet. They live within the walls of my own home, or I’m related to them, or they feel like family to me. I absolutely love the people I get to associate with. I completely get Will Rogers’ famously cited mantra “I never met a man I didn’t like.” I cannot overstate the gratitude I feel for the influence of my family and friends on my own life. I am me because of them.

I am blessed to have a wife that is superior to me in every way, and doesn’t throw it in my face. I know nobody more forgiving or compassionate, more funny or insightful, more wise and witty. Her profound faith and quiet sacrifices make sense of my world. I could not fathom happiness without her smack dab in the middle of it.

My children mold me and I strive to be better for them, so that I may leave a legacy that will inspire them. Or at least not embarrass them. (That’s really the target I am more confident I can hit). Their outpouring of love and enthusiasm confirms in my mind that despite my transparent flaws, I am doing something right. They see it in me.

My parents, siblings, and in-laws are fountains of unlimited love and encouragement. And I am blessed with friends who, despite mountains of evidence to prove them wrong, assume the best about me. I love all of them dearly.

I am blessed with clarity of who I am, where I came from, where I want to go, and how to get there. And I am given the opportunity over and over to be penitent, change, and improve my attempts to get it right.

Yes, I still feel an internal pining to leave some kind of original, noble footprint on the world. Maybe that’s selfish or hollow or shortsighted, I’m not sure. Yes, there are exotic places I would still like to live. Talents I would like to develop. But to spend time and energy focused on what isn’t means I am not recognizing the abundance that is, and the abundance still available to me. To turn 40 and not celebrate this gift would be, to me, a display of ingratitude to my Father.

But you should probably check back in with me a few hours before I’m 50. 

1971

1977

1987

1995

2010