Well, Apparently I’m Old Now
Notes on coffee, contentment, letting go, and being home by eight
One of the things I’ve noticed as I get older is that I have less patience with all the clamoring that seems to accompany youth. You know the drill: the unbridled ambition, the need to be approved of, the relentless urge to prove that we are accomplishing something terribly important. Somewhere along the way, we picked up the peculiar idea that our value as human beings is tied to how successful and productive we are. Apparently, simply being alive, loving people, and remembering where we left our glasses doesn’t quite cut it.
I’m also far less attached to possessions than I once was. I have little interest in the latest fashions, the newest smartphone, or any automobile that appears to be considerably smarter than I am. I don’t need my refrigerator to send me a text message. I need it to keep the milk cold. We have a perfectly good arrangement.
These days, what warms my heart is much simpler: showing up for the people I love, resisting the temptation to reduce anyone to a label or a concept, savoring ordinary miracles, spending time with close friends, and loving on my family. That feels like plenty.
It is life-giving to share lunch with a friend and talk about the things that actually matter, how we are changing, what we are learning, what we are letting go of, and how we might tend the soul in the years we have left. Nobody has to network. Nobody has to improve their personal brand. Nobody needs a five-year strategic plan. We can just eat our sandwiches and tell the truth.
And how extraordinary it is to sit in bed with my partner, drinking that first cup of coffee and wondering together what the day might hold. There was a time when I might have overlooked such a moment because I was already mentally halfway into the next meeting. Now I’m beginning to suspect that this is the meeting.
I never really wanted to retire from work. Not really. I wanted to retire from stress. I wanted to resign from the exhausting position of Vice President for Worrying About Things I Cannot Control. Unfortunately, I seem to have been given emeritus status.
I’m not there yet. There is a lifetime of conditioning to unravel—the old voices whispering that I should accomplish more, prove more, own more, hurry more. But they don’t seem quite as convincing as they once did.
And little by little, I’m discovering that perhaps the great gift of growing older is realizing how much of life was enough all along. A cup of coffee. Someone you love. A few good friends. Something meaningful to do. And, increasingly, absolutely nowhere I need to be after 8:00 p.m.
