Gettin’ old.

Old is relative. Seven-year-olds think teenagers are old. Teens think thirtysomethings are old. And guys like me think my parent’s generation is old. And all these older comparisons don’t think they are.

But here, after my thirty-seventh trip around the fusion reactor perched on this rock, I’m staring to get the feeling that its going to be tough to call myself a “young man” anymore. But I’m OK with that.

There are those people who’ll say that they’ve “peaked”. Some believe they peaked in high school or college. Some will say they’ve peaked in their late 20s. And some would say they’re at their peak at my age.

Maybe its me, but I don’t think I’ve peaked. At least I don’t feel like it. In some respects I feel like I’m in a much more confident place than I was in college, and certainly more than in high school, where I was a complete loser.

But I also have the sense that there’s less in front of me than there used to be. I won’t use the term “crisis”, but it is a sense that if I wanted to do something great, I’d better hop to it. Perhaps having a father and brother dying at young ages is putting the pressure on to utilize as much time as I have. Being worn out by work and children is certainly making it tough to be productive.

I haven’t written a great novel, or composed a definitive work of music, or ascended as a respected member of my profession or as an entrepreneur, but my attitude is one of believing that I can still try for these things should the desire strike. I can’t be a recognized master as a child like Mozart, or an icon of an industry before age 30 like Steve Jobs, but being middle aged shouldn’t be an excuse to not try, and just push through life, even if I’m content and happy.

I enjoy whatever age I am: Who I am inside doesn’t change much with age.

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