One of my favorite characters in all of movies is played by Billy Crystal in City Slickers. I find his angst to be so ordinary, so utterly relatable. And perhaps my favorite scene is the one on his birthday in which he stares into the mirror and comes to grips (again) with the fact that he's never going to look any better than this...never going to be any better than this...and it ain't that great. Yes. Welcome to the deafening tick-tock world of adult birthdays.
I remember turning 10, and rejoicing in the accomplishment of double digits. Breasts and boys were still far enough around the corner that I could be pretty darn content to just be me...crooked kid teeth and awkward hair and all. There was still so much time for everything to improve. And so many more important things to think about. Like enjoying my popsicle.
I remember turning 20, and thinking that at last I was almost as old as I had always wanted to be. Who but an impatient teen could possibly wish to be older? But all I had ever wanted was to be taken seriously. And at 20, I felt that legitimacy was about to be within reach. At last.
I remember turning 30, and thinking I was OLD. Actually, that shadow began to threaten at about 25, when I first heard the ticking and realized that I would be 30 without becoming rich and famous if I didn't do something about it quick. And then suddenly I was 30, and I began to realize that, not only might I never be rich and famous, but perhaps I should re-evaluate that as a goal anyway and do something truly important. But of course I had no idea what that would be. And being confronted with the sudden uncertainty attending the weight of that question made me feel like perhaps I should have come to that realization much sooner, because now I was...old.
I remember turning 40, and being quite thrilled that I was NOT old. I could run further and faster than I ever had in my youth. My kids were grown, and I was still a young mom! I did get my first taste of REAL life problems - the kind with a capital "P"- around that age, but I survived. Little did I know that real life problems leave lasting changes, and that as we trudge forward we do not shed the ones we have encountered, we just add them to the luggage and carry them along as we attempt to jump the next hurdle. Bigger kids, bigger problems...as the old adage goes. But also aging joints, graying hair, mortal parents, money worries and the nagging notion that, although we are certainly not old yet, there may actually come a day when...well, I don't even want to go there.
And now 50. To celebrate, I've been spending the last month engaged in a major cancer scare. I think that a major cancer scare around age 50 has the potential to turn into a great gift...once you open the box and find that it's actually NOT cancer, that is. And I've just about got that wrapping paper off. What I hope is that I'll use the gift to help me move forward in better ways. That it will come with renewed energy, and enthusiasm, and perspective, and all the things one ought to have at the beginning of a new decade. Also an increased appreciation for the journey. And for things like birthdays themselves. Even the 50th one.
The thing about life is that we never know where we are on the continuum. Not the one of time, nor even the one of goodness. Who knows when we are old? We may have started on the downhill side at 18...or 25...or maybe not until 50. And it's probably best that we don't know when it happens, because it enables us to hope that our best years, our biggest accomplishments, may still lie ahead. Who knows if we are good? We may think we are, or fear we aren't, but since we really can't judge anyone else's standing from our own vantage point, who's to say? Probably best we don't know that either. Because it allows us to suspect that we should probably be better than we are. And to try to get there.
Regardless of how things turn out now, there's a good chance we'll all eventually end up with cancer, if granted the privilege of living long enough. Will that possibility be less earth-shattering at 80...or 85...than it has been at 49? I want to say yes, because I will have moved from "died too young" to "lived a full life." But the truth is probably not, given the fact that I feel like the same me now that I felt like in 8th grade. I'm getting old enough to realize that's probably not going to change.
I've been peering into my own darkness for a good many years now, and I'm still groping for a light switch or, better yet, hoping someone else is going to turn it on for me. It's looking increasingly less likely that there will be a sudden illumination in which everything will become clear, in which I will see not only the end from the beginning but the obvious path by which to reach it. And that's okay. Uncertain at 50 feels about right, I guess. Uncertain, but still the same me. And still expecting more.
Happy birthday, Me. Don't give up on yourself. Your teeth are still a little crooked, your hair is still pretty awkward most days, but those things haven't turned out to be terribly important. And even though you will never look better than this, probably never be better than this...this ain't that bad. And for heaven's sake, you're not OLD. (You should be so lucky!) In fact, here -- have a popsicle.