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I had lunch yesterday with one of my oldest friends. It was the first time we'd met in well over over a month. He told me how he and his new wife are making final preparations for a move to Washington D.C., which will happen very soon. We once were like brothers—in some ways we still are—but our friendship, like many in the post-Covid world, has changed over the past few years.
Up until a few years ago we met, religiously, for lunch once a week and did a weekend trip once a year in the summertime. That trip was a refreshing reset for us both and it provided a little bit of adventure and a temporary change of scenery that we all are missing in modern day life. For the better part of two decades our annual weekend away was a ritual that kept us sane, kept us going.
Now, we’re lucky if we meet four times a year for lunch. This will, no doubt, extend to once every few years after his move to the East coast. I’ve seen this kind of change happen, time and time again with many friends but I assumed that our friendship would be different.
A passage from "Orthodoxy" by G.K. Chesterton.
I found myself thinking a lot about this as my car was driving me home yesterday, thanks to Tesla full self driving I had the mental bandwidth to do it. I place no blame for the distance between us now. Some of it is on me, some of it is on him. Most of it is due to the responsibilities of life itself.
Seasons change. People and priorities change. Life unfolds.
I guess the reality and sheer volume of what we all take for granted is what saddens me the most. As is the magical spark of the inner child I see fading quickly in so many of the people around me. I sure do hope I never lose that spark. I know it's an extremely rare and lucky few who manage to keep it with them until the end.
Aging presents plenty of these moments of reflection.
Cycles of loss, grief, and acceptance.
Waves of picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, reinventing yourself, and learning that no matter what life marches on.
More than any other season of my life my fifties are shaping up to be a spectacularly solitary, and in some ways, a freeing time. A time of turning inward, of getting to know myself more deeply than I ever imagined I could, learning to work on what I don’t love about myself. It’s a time of deciding not to chase or beg—for friendship, for love, opportunities, or for attention. This is a decade of looking after myself so I can be there for others.
It's better to concentrate on being our best selves and having the courage and faith to let life unfold as it's meant to. If I’m having a conversation with someone now and I can see they’re distracted and not listening it doesn’t make me mad, I just stop talking until they come back around. There are times they never do come back around and that's okay. It speaks volumes. There are such powerful lessons in each phase of our existence.
The best way I can think of to describe this fifth decade of life is like waking up after this huge party and everyone, one by one, is finding their way to the door. Sometimes now it feels like when I speak all I hear back are the echoes of my own voice. I suspect it’s always been this way, this phase of life I mean. Life, in its own naturally perfect way, is preparing us Generation-Xers for our next phase—one that is even quieter, less flexible, more regimented. This next phase is one that may or may not involve watching Jeopardy and a 9pm bedtime. One where the roles are reversed and many of us become the ones complaining about the incompetence of the younger generations.
I really hope that’s not me. I hope I can walk my journey to the end without being cloaked in that particular kind of cynicism. It's my wish I can, somehow, find a way to preserve that magical spark of youth, hold onto that sense of wonder, and unquenchable curiosity. To still be able to laugh easily and smile with my eyes.
All I know is life unfolds and it happens so quickly and completely.
Sometimes, I fear, we’re just swept away by the current and don't realize exactly how far we’ve traveled until we’re already hundreds of miles downstream. For now, I feel very grateful and blessed to still be enjoying the ride.
All for now. Thanks for reading.
