The Latter Half of Life

I turned 40 years old this year, and if I’m being honest it kinda feels like the walls are closing in on me. I come from a family tree that leans toward a sedentary lifestyle with a litany of potential medical dramas lurking around the corner of each new and passing year. My mid-section is growing more well rounded than my personality while my hairline recedes further into the depths of obscurity. My eyebrows are getting unruly despite my attempts to hold them at bay and it seems that something new aches or creaks every few weeks. At one point my mom actually gave me a lengthy, hand written list of all the potential diseases and ailments that our bloodline is prone to contracting, you know, just in case I needed it. Thanks mom, I appreciate the reminder of all the things that may kill me one day.

Oddly enough, the inner dialogue that plays out in my mind is not about the gradual degradation of my bodily temple, but that I’ve crested the hill of life and feel like I have little to show for it. The years are only getting shorter and I can’t beat the feeling that I’ve wasted the majority of the ones I’ve been allotted thus far. A friend reminded me recently that I have actually done some really cool things in my life like playing in a mildly successful band, living on a boat, owning my own business and starting this photography venture, but most of those are like distant memories now. I can’t help but get in my head feeling like the clock is ticking louder each day, and that I’m not where I want to be in life or doing what I want to be doing.

I partially believe that I am the product of a restless generation of nomads that are always looking for greener pastures, with no regard for the grass under foot. But it seems that there’s more to it than that. I have this longing to live a life worth telling others about. Most, if not all, of the great writers that I love to read got their inspiration from the experiences of life, which in turn gave them stories to tell. John Eldredge wrote a great book on the subject called Wild at Heart, where he explores the notion that the masculine heart is a wild and passionate thing that longs for adventure and exploration.

Another story that comes to mind is The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. In the film adaptation, Ben Stiller’s character, Walter Mitty, is a schlub of a guy who lives out wild, fantastical adventures through involuntary daydreams while his real, boring life is falling apart around him. The counter protagonist, Sean O’Connell, played by Sean Penn, is the mysterious and independent photojournalist who traipses around the world living the life that Walter has always dreamed of. This is in essence how I feel, like Walter Mitty, stuck in a rut with only dreams of grandeur. In the film, Walter does go on a great adventure, but it takes extraordinary circumstances all along the way to get him out of his comfort zone and stepping out into the unknown.

I believe that we, men in particular, are hardwired for adventure, and in our modern society we are but kings of convenience. Not so long ago, in the annals of history, daily life was an adventure in and of itself. Life was difficult, and it was an achievement to survive the southern summers and northern winters. People’s minds were focused on survival and overcoming adversity, not just Tik Tok and Instagram.

“The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives” -Albert Schweitzer

I’m pledging to myself now, in my 40th year of life, to live the latter half with more intention. The first half got the better of me, but the second won’t get away so easily. I pledge, to myself, to turn off the noise of life that distracts me from my goals, to get out of the shallows and dive deeper into the things of life that I’m passionate about, to take more photos and to write more, to not waste time on fruitless endeavors, to stop being a bystander in life and to start being a voyager.