On Being Fifty-Something

By G. E. Shuman

During a recent bout with a nagging disease which has shared my body with me since I was a child, I was, if you can bear the overuse of the term, ‘awakened’ to something. First I have to tell you that I hate that word ‘disease’. Don’t you? The only consolation I get from it is the idea that the word is a contraction of dis-ease, or, in other words, lack of ease. To me, a lack of ease, or even the idea of being ‘ill’ at ease, is better than ever using the word disease. When I hear that dreaded word I always think of a diseased apple tree. Then I imagine the old, rotten, infested thing being purposely cut down and thrown into the fire so that it doesn’t produce spotted, misshapen, diseased apples, and so the disease it harbors doesn’t spread to healthy trees. In any case, my ‘disease’, (I’m going to keep this description as short as possible) is of the inflammatory bowel syndrome type. The official abbreviation is IBS. For this they went to medical school? The Greek term: bellius painium maximus describes it best. In any case, because of my ‘bowel’ problem, (I know… Too Much Information.) most of the month of July was no picnic for me. That is, especially since our family’s 4th of July picnic. Since then I have had to take it a bit easier than I had before, at least temporarily.

The reason I tell you all of this is that that I have come to a few realizations since the 4th of July this year. The first is that I really am fifty-something. I know, you’re looking at my picture in the paper and asking yourself how this young studly person could possibly be fifty something, but believe me, I am. If you’re a regular reader of the column, I also know what you’re thinking. “He’s way too cute to be this smart.” For that common thought, I simply have no reply. I’m also way too humble for that.

In being this fifty-something person I have recently noticed that I am, I have had a few other realizations thrust upon me. One is that I seem to be turning prematurely gray. (You may notice one or two gray hairs in my picture.) Now don’t tell me they’re not there. I know they are. Another thing is that my eyesight is no longer perfect. That is why you see me wearing glasses. My wife tells me it is also why I think my hair is ‘beginning’ to turn gray. One other thing is that proclaiming myself to be in shape, because round IS a shape, is not that funny anymore. Neither is the thought that it is actually too late for my hair to be graying ‘prematurely.’

Fortunately for me, some other realizations of this less-than-totally-healthy fifty-something year old are much more positive things, and ones that, if you are even nearing my age, you should consider, and actually look forward to. One thing is that my adult kids don’t need me anymore. Hurray! All of them earn more money than me. Well, they make more money than me. Some still ask the occasional bit of plumbing, car-repair or electrical wiring advice, but they are quite self sufficient. That is a good thing, and I’m very proud of them, all. An even ‘gooder’ thing is that I’m not responsible for them, at all. This is something they seem to enjoy, and so do I. Another wonderful realization is that I suddenly, somehow have the idea that I don’t have to fix the world. I would love to get rid of war, world hunger and reality shows, but since I can’t even fix my bumpy driveway, I certainly should leave those other things to other fixers. Yes, something about this recent bout with my lingering dis-ease has changed a few things for me.

I have been persuaded, as perhaps other fifty-somethings should be, to simply relax a bit. As I mentioned in another recent column, I have also nearly decided to never sell my home and to just die here. I’m serious…just die right here. (That’s the grumpy old man in me coming out, and I’m starting to like him.) That way the kids get to clean out the attic next time. Most of the junk up there is theirs anyway. If they want to sell the house and keep the money, good for them. The least they can do is lug their own stuff down the stairs and to the dump. I am also even less interested lately in climbing the corporate ladder than in climbing the stairs to that attic. It seems to me that both propositions have a lot of trash at the top. I have never been to the upper business rungs, and God has always provided for my needs and those of my family anyway. How could I want more than that?

The truth is, dumb as it sounds, I’m not even all that concerned with those skyrocketing gas and oil prices. They’re more than they used to be, and less than they someday will be. So what else is new? At my slowly advancing age, I also take absolutely no ‘stuff’ at all from car salesmen. Period. I tell them the deal I want. If they don’t agree, I leave and let them sell their hurry-hurry-hurry-before-they’re-all-gone car to the next guy. I assume their company will make more cars tomorrow. If they won‘t, I don’t want to buy from them anyway. Also, amusement park rides might still excite me, but don’t scare me anymore. I have decided that if they killed very many people the park would have gone out of business long ago.

Now let’s talk about food, just for a moment. Yes, I do have a defective digestive system, but only sometimes. So when my stomach isn’t in a cranky mood, I tend to drink coffee whenever I wish. I love coffee. If it keeps me awake at night, that’s even more time I have to realize that my life is not over, at least not yet. You know, yesterday I actually saw an internet article headline which asked the question: “Does Charcoal Grilled Meat Increase The Risk Of Cancer?” I didn’t read that article. I’m fifty-something, I love charcoal grilled meat, and those people should just shut up. I don’t drive fast or cheat on my wife. If I want a sizzling steak, sue me. In fact, as shocking as it may be, I would love to someday become a charter member of a red meat, crusty bread, wine and seriously sharp cheese club. Wanna join? I’ll give you a Lipitor for dessert.
I guess my point is that if you happen to be a fifty-something (or older) person like me, you might join me in more than that club. Consider just dropping out of, or at least slowing down in the rat race, for a start. Take the time to enjoy some really good food. Then get rid of some of the toys. Find your happiness in an evening walk on the beach, your peace in lengthy talks with God, and contentment in a superb cup of coffee.

It felt good to tell you all of this. Thanks for listening.

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