The 40-ness

By Wreybies · Mar 10, 2010 · 403 · 6
  1. Yes, yes.

    I know.

    No big deal.

    Just a number.

    An arbitrary point determined by arbitrary numbers of arbitrary choices in the arbitrary past. An artifact of the accumulation and recomposition of different systems, both new and old, systematic and arcane, of denoting the passing of time. I could just as easily be celebrating my forth decarev, or my seventh mammoth run, or my .000000000000725 galactic revolutions.

    Regardless, by today’s reckoning I am three day’s away from my fortieth birthday.

    I am reminded of my class in physical anthropology for which I was a teacher’s assistant for many semesters. I remember learning that the natural maximum human lifespan is actually only between fifty and fifty-five years. Hard to believe, right? Fifty years. When I say natural, I am talking about humans as they originally lived, prior to the advent of cultural aids like medicine, modern shelters, modern access to foods, modern concepts of hygiene. Humans, butt naked, on the plains of East Africa, without any kind of aid whatsoever are only designed to last fifty years, tops. Without all of the many, many, many things that culture has accumulated and allowed to continue forward via the magic of language and written communication, that is all we would get.

    So, at forty, that would have made me, back in my hypothetical little tribe of wandering humans, the doddering old senior citizen. Maybe I might of been the shaman by this time, if I were smart enough. I would like to think that that might have been the case. Perhaps my tribe would have been secretly planning to move on in the night as I slept because they couldn’t remember the last time I had taken down my own gazelle.

    Who knows.

    I have just written and then deleted an entire passage referring back to exactly twenty years ago when I was about to turn twenty years old. The nostalgia wave nearly bowled me over and I had to stop typing.

    So anyway. In a strange way I have sadness and feelings of… inadequacy? over where I am in my life. But the logical part of my brain is staring at the emotional part of brain with confusion as to why.

    1) I am doing the job I wanted to do as a child. I am an interpreter. I LOVE languages. I find the entire phenomenon intensely fascinating.

    2) I have a wonderful husband. He is funny, bright, interesting, and an absolute cutie-pie to boot.

    3) I live and work on a tropical island. It is summer 365 days a year.

    I guess I’m just being hormonal. *Shrug*

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  1. Ashleigh
    If it helps, Wrey, you could always put: 'I don't look a day over 30' as number four on that list :)
    Ashleigh, Mar 10, 2010
  2. BBWalter
    Wrey, most of the time I view getting older in the terms of wine. As a wine, grapes are bitter or tart in the beginning and, only with time and gentle weathering, do they become a sweet, delicious treat that makes one smile, flutter lids and sigh in appreciation.

    Although...I do like Ashleigh's post about not looking a day of 30 being number 4 on your list... :)

    B
    BBWalter, Mar 10, 2010
  3. Prometheus
    I'm only a couple of years behind you, and this time of year I'd trade ten years for that tropical island.
    Prometheus, Mar 10, 2010
  4. madhoca
    It's okay, Wrey. The butt naked on the plains of Africa days sucked--let's just be thankful for the time we live in.

    If it's any consolation, my mother re-qualified as a notary at the age of 60 and now at 70 she has a whale of a time jaunting off to conventions in Paris and Stasbourg. She attends more conferences than I do. Sometimes her best friend and 95-year-old neighbour drives her.

    Of course, it's the quality, not the quantity of your years that's important in the end. So, just forget the number while at the same time enjoying the birthday party.

    Many happy returns.
    madhoca, Mar 11, 2010
  5. madhoca
    It's okay, Wrey. The butt naked on the plains of Africa days sucked--let's just be thankful for the time we live in.

    If it's any consolation, my mother re-qualified as a notary at the age of 60 and now at 70 she has a whale of a time jaunting off to conventions in Paris and Stasbourg. She attends more conferences than I do. Sometimes her best friend and 95-year-old neighbour drives her.

    Of course, it's the quality, not the quantity of your years that's important in the end. So, just forget the number while at the same time enjoying the birthday party.

    Many happy returns.
    madhoca, Mar 11, 2010
  6. becca
    Sorry, I was just picturing you being a butt-naked shaman on the plains of Africa and lost everything else you said. :p

    Just kidding.

    I think sometimes when we get to certain ages in our lives, we realize how many years of our life has passed. Then we think about what we wanted to accomplish with our lives and how much time we might have left. Sometimes that sets in some panic if you are futher away from your goal than you wanted to be.

    We just have to remember that life is not always about what we accomplish, but the experiences we had, and the other lives and people we have touched. Everyone touches the people around them in some way.

    I hope you have 40 more years to run around butt-naked! *huggles*
    becca, Mar 30, 2010
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