I look at my favorite musicians whom I’ve followed since the seventies and I notice something. They look old. Most of them are around sixty-eight years of age. And they’re gamely out there and still touring, (albeit much smaller venues for the most part, although David Gilmour sixty-eight and Paul McCartney seventy-three, still pack stadiums).
The photos that pop up in my Facebook feed from time to time show my rock idols as they were in the sixties and seventies with long flowing hair, clear skin, mesmerizing eyes and you can feel the energy emanate from the photo.
I remember with fondness, the summers of warm breezes bearing the musky scent of hashish and pot, the taste of sweet wine, the ambience of love, as my beloved music crashed over us in a tonal tsunami.
But when the pop-up photos in my feed show side by side pictures of my favorite stars from then with current photos of them now, my dreams come crashing back to earth. They are old!
What is worse is the realization that if my idols are old then I too am old! And a quick glance at my reflection in my computer screen confirms this horrible fact.
This person I see staring back at me from the murky reflection on my iMac has long stringy grey hair and a white goatee, yes, completely white! Dark circles under watery pale eyes supported by wrinkled cheeks and a jowly jaw line! Who is this old guy?
It’s me!
I wonder where the time went and what I did with it. I wonder if I did enough and if what I did do was what I wanted to do.
No. Not always.
Most of the time I did what I had to do, the rest of the time I did what I wanted or at least so far as I could afford to do with treasure and talent available (not much in either case).
I secured a career, married, had children and also found time to raise and train dogs, study and teach martial arts, and play in a band (all the while secretly daydreaming about stardom without knowing how hard that can be or what a toll it takes on those that set out on that path and fail).
Life has a way of interrupting the best plans.
And through decisions I made and mistakes I learned from, for better or for worse, I found myself starting over at forty-one in a new country estranged from those I loved most and the places I loved so well.
While my idols were just passing the pinnacle of their careers (those that survived the ravages of the rock and roll lifestyle at least) I found myself back at square one.
There is definitely more sand on the bottom of the hourglass than trying to fit through the narrow opening. It’s true and there’s no denying it.
I suppose my thoughts about this are more focused because of the recent passing of my mother.
Every one of us goes through this process, no one escapes. And we are the lucky ones for there are those who get smacked in the face with the stark realization of their own imminent mortality.
When it’s all said and done, the things that matter are not what we thought would matter when we were young.
Sure, I wish I were a better musician, a better martial artist and yes, a better husband and father. Don’t we all wish we were better versions of ourselves? And I don’t really care that I wasn’t famous or rich.
No, I just find I need to feel that I didn’t waste the precious time that I had when I was younger and that I am maximizing the time left to me now that I am older.
I want to think that I gave love, received love, and am thought of by friends and family with fondness. There is satisfaction that I tried to do a few things, to learn more about things, and that I appreciated the life I lead, that I was present and remember being present during that time.
As I look at photos of my aging rock stars, the reflection staring back at me is not so different, for it too has aged.
I am still here, I am still trying to reach goals I have set for myself, I still have aspirations, and the juices are still flowing.
Then it hits me, the graying hair, sagging face, and paunchy body show the wear and tear of a life that has been lived.
And I smile.
The photos that pop up in my Facebook feed from time to time show my rock idols as they were in the sixties and seventies with long flowing hair, clear skin, mesmerizing eyes and you can feel the energy emanate from the photo.
I remember with fondness, the summers of warm breezes bearing the musky scent of hashish and pot, the taste of sweet wine, the ambience of love, as my beloved music crashed over us in a tonal tsunami.
But when the pop-up photos in my feed show side by side pictures of my favorite stars from then with current photos of them now, my dreams come crashing back to earth. They are old!
What is worse is the realization that if my idols are old then I too am old! And a quick glance at my reflection in my computer screen confirms this horrible fact.
This person I see staring back at me from the murky reflection on my iMac has long stringy grey hair and a white goatee, yes, completely white! Dark circles under watery pale eyes supported by wrinkled cheeks and a jowly jaw line! Who is this old guy?
It’s me!
I wonder where the time went and what I did with it. I wonder if I did enough and if what I did do was what I wanted to do.
No. Not always.
Most of the time I did what I had to do, the rest of the time I did what I wanted or at least so far as I could afford to do with treasure and talent available (not much in either case).
I secured a career, married, had children and also found time to raise and train dogs, study and teach martial arts, and play in a band (all the while secretly daydreaming about stardom without knowing how hard that can be or what a toll it takes on those that set out on that path and fail).
Life has a way of interrupting the best plans.
And through decisions I made and mistakes I learned from, for better or for worse, I found myself starting over at forty-one in a new country estranged from those I loved most and the places I loved so well.
While my idols were just passing the pinnacle of their careers (those that survived the ravages of the rock and roll lifestyle at least) I found myself back at square one.
There is definitely more sand on the bottom of the hourglass than trying to fit through the narrow opening. It’s true and there’s no denying it.
I suppose my thoughts about this are more focused because of the recent passing of my mother.
Every one of us goes through this process, no one escapes. And we are the lucky ones for there are those who get smacked in the face with the stark realization of their own imminent mortality.
When it’s all said and done, the things that matter are not what we thought would matter when we were young.
Sure, I wish I were a better musician, a better martial artist and yes, a better husband and father. Don’t we all wish we were better versions of ourselves? And I don’t really care that I wasn’t famous or rich.
No, I just find I need to feel that I didn’t waste the precious time that I had when I was younger and that I am maximizing the time left to me now that I am older.
I want to think that I gave love, received love, and am thought of by friends and family with fondness. There is satisfaction that I tried to do a few things, to learn more about things, and that I appreciated the life I lead, that I was present and remember being present during that time.
As I look at photos of my aging rock stars, the reflection staring back at me is not so different, for it too has aged.
I am still here, I am still trying to reach goals I have set for myself, I still have aspirations, and the juices are still flowing.
Then it hits me, the graying hair, sagging face, and paunchy body show the wear and tear of a life that has been lived.
And I smile.
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