Age Really is Just a Number: Or is it?
Age is an infuriatingly complex construct for me. While I am now classified as a senior citizen, the company I keep is more often than not decades younger than me. I sometimes feel that I’m a 35-year-old trapped in a 68-year old’s body.
I do have a handful of close same-aged friends, but truth be told, I often struggle with fellow boomers — especially men. Too many in my generation never hit refresh on their cognitive and emotional reset buttons. It’s like pulling teeth to have meaningful conversations with some of my peers. And so, I feel more at ease with younger people that possess a comparable emotional disposition.
Now, this is not an indictment of everyone over 50 so forgive me for generalizing a bit. There are notable and plentiful exceptions. Case in point, I went to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at Wrigley Field in Chicago recently. Their rollicking yet nostalgic performance inspired me to reevaluate my age bias.
Springsteen is 73. From the moment he strutted on stage, he poured his heart, soul, and raspy voice into a kick-ass, 3-hour, come-to-Jesus, geriatric rock’n’roll revival. Yes, three hours! With no intermission! Drummer Max Weinberg, 72, beat the tar out of his drum set all night long. “Little” Steven Van Zandt, also 72, strummed his guitar, sang, and cavorted around the stage like a 16-year-old. Everyone in the band, other than saxophonist Jake Clemons (nephew of Clarence) is in their 60s or 70s. It was obvious to anyone in the crowd that these senior citizens are still at the top of their game.
And they’re not alone.
Paul McCartney and Paul Simon are both 81, Neil Young, 77, the Stones (late 70s), and U2 (early 60s). Hell, Tony Bennett was still performing in his 90s! From the entertainment industry, Clint Eastwood is 93, filmmaker Martin Scorsese and actor Robert Dinero are both 80, Harrison Ford, 81, David Letterman, 76, Saturday Night Live overlord Lorne Michaels, 78, and the list goes on and on. The titan of American enterprise, Warren Buffett, is 92 and NFL coaching greats Bill Belichick and Pete Carroll are in their 70s. Dare I mention political leaders on both sides of the aisle? All of these people and many others are still wide-eyed, talented, engaging, and energetic. They continue to challenge themselves and deliver results that often exceed expectations.
Why? Because they’re nimble and work smarter. Been there, done that. They’re not intimidated by challenges. Age is usually accompanied by competence, experience, emotional intelligence, perspective, wisdom, and a deeper understanding of life. But not always. These advancements come only if a person is open to receiving them.
Two days after Springsteen sparked my reflections about age, I drove to my hometown in Wisconsin for my 50th high school class reunion. I wondered what I’d have to talk about with classmates, many of them strangers since I hadn’t seen them in five decades. I’m now used to having deep conversations with people — both in my psychotherapy practice and my personal life. So, I approached this weekend with some trepidation.
Well, I’m happy to report that my apprehension was misplaced. I did have meaningful and moving conversations with classmates. We’ve become comfortable enough in our own skin to share our vulnerabilities. And I had a blast reconnecting with “old people” I really like. We laughed, reminisced, told the stories of our lives, posed for pictures, and laughed some more. It was a truly uplifting and stimulating weekend.
There was a discernable difference in most of us. We’ve matured and mellowed, developed perspective, and lost much of our bravado. We’ve endured hardship and heartache. We’ve lost loved ones, survived failure and ignominious missteps, and we’ve faced difficult challenges. We’ve evolved into more polished, thoughtful, and humble versions of our 18-year-old selves.
We also now have wrinkles and saggy skin, grey hair or no hair, and new mechanical joints. We have high blood pressure, enlarged prostates, cataracts, and a litany of other age-related conditions.
And sadly, we’ve lost at least 80 people (that we know of) from a graduating class of 362. Almost a quarter of our class is dead. I guess we are not immortal after all. And it begs the question, “who among us will not make it to the next reunion?” Morose, I know, but relevant as all get out. Any one of us could be felled by a heart attack or stroke, diagnosed with terminal cancer, or hit by a bus.
And then I wonder if we’d be at peace with ourselves and our loved ones when the end came? Or did we leave unfinished business on the table that will place an asterisk on our lives and leave our survivors reeling with regret?
Mr. Springsteen addressed these questions at the concert while introducing his melancholic requiem, “Last Man Standing.” He urged the audience to heal old wounds, let go of grudges, and make peace. It’s not about winning an argument or being right. What does that leave you with in the end but regret, hurt, sadness, and emptiness. And no chance to repair whatever rupture occurred God knows when. It’s too late. No do-overs. No second chances.
After five rollicking encores, the Boss rambled back on stage alone, with an acoustic guitar in hand. In hushed tones, he spoke about the death earlier that day of his friend, Robbie Robertson. He strummed his guitar gently and sang the words to “I’ll See You in My Dreams,” a ballad he wrote after 9/11. The song served as benediction to a 3-hour celebration of the band’s five decades of life.
Eyes glistened as Springsteen acknowledged his and our mortality. Yes, he’s getting older. So am I. So are we all. I may be young at heart, mind, and soul but I’m not fooling anyone. I’m winding down my sixth decade of existence, yet like Bruce Springsteen, Warren Buffett, Harrison Ford, and so many others, I still have a whole lot to offer. I can still “bring it.” And I will for as long as I possibly can.
There’s no guarantee how many days we’re allotted on this earth, so it’s wise to live life to the fullest and exit with no regrets. Love, laugh, dare, feel, explore, accept, and forgive. Live. As the beloved Chicago disc jockey Lin Brehmer (who died in January at the age of 68) used to say, “Take nothing for granted. It’s great to be alive.”
Good advice, Lin.
And Bruce, thanks for the reminder that age really is just a number.
