It’s finally happened. The day that always seemed so far away has arrived with not quite as much fanfare as I had imagined, but certainly with more impact than I was prepared to receive. That’s right; I turned 65 years of age and while my inevitable demise is not as imminent as my life insurance policy makes it seem, the implications — as well as the realities of my chronological calculations — have sunk in. I am old, and the beginning of my twilight years has officially commenced.
My wife — who is an Ob-Gyn — has been very reassuring by letting me know that, by today’s standards, 65 years of age is not considered old, as many people are living a productive life well into their 80’s and 90’s. The caveat to my wife’s empathy regarding my situation is that although she is a well-respected M.D., it’s hard for me to rely upon her prognosis regarding my manly life span, since her practice caters to an all-female clientele. Not to say that she is unable to extrapolate, but as I see it, my testosterone-laden health issues don’t have a lot in common with her regular customers. Therefore, the great insight she may be passing on to her patients might just be a placebo in my circumstance.
Not So Bad — in Theory
On paper, the number 65 looks like one of decrepitude, but I can honestly say I do not feel the way I imagined 65 years of age to feel. Luckily, my health is good and I’m not on any medications other than vitamins, scotch and beer. One downside I have found to the aging process is that older people have a propensity to discuss in detail the various medications they are taking along with blow-by-blow descriptions of their visits to the doctor. I usually go out of my way to avoid these conversations, as that dialog alone is apt to age one quicker than normal. As chance would have it, though, most of the people that work with and for me are a good 15 to 40 years my junior, and while I still fancy myself as a fairly in-tune and current type of guy, I would be less than truthful if I ignored the telltale signs of my maturity.
While I have been fortunate to remain healthy, I can’t deny that the aging process has affected me — and in ways I could never have imagined a mere 20 years ago. One change that I noticed about 10 years ago is that the lure of the road had lost its appeal, and the idea of living out of a bus or an airport became a less attractive proposition than sleeping in my own bed every night. Of course, raising a family is a game-changer in itself, but even now that my kids are grown and on their own, I’m still in no hurry to leave the comfort of my own bed to once again live the swashbuckling life of a freewheeling audio engineer. After spending a good 30 years being inside every venue imaginable and working with bands who are now either iconic or forgotten, I often don’t have the impetus to even go see one of the shows that I put together.
65… The New 35?
That said, if you do find yourself on the bus at an advanced age, it’s a great thing to be able to pass on knowledge and stories of the glory days, although it becomes disheartening when some of the younger travelers on the bus don’t care or even know the bands or gear being referenced. Also, it’s important to remember that your once-adorable self now has a different outer covering that does not perform the charming moves it once was capable of executing. Think Jerry Lewis as an older man trying to pull off the comedy of his youth; it’s just creepy. Your late nights at the hotel bar do not exude the romance and roguishness of the old days, and if you find yourself closing the bar enough times, there’s a good chance you might have a problem. Also, just because you’re with the band does not give you the free pass with the women the way it once did, and there is a good chance that it is the size of your wallet that’s the most impressive thing about you. I joke, of course, but the aging process is not always easy to reconcile, and while you still may need to make a declaration of your creative self, skinny jeans and a man bun might be overshooting the mark by a bit. As a reality check, picture Bernie Sanders in that fashion statement.
Anyway, just to be clear; I still really enjoy my work, and these days that includes spending much of my time behind my office desk while talking on the phone and staring at a computer screen. It’s strange, but I really do not have any desire to push another case, wrap another cable or sit behind a console and, most of all, I no longer have the patience for the long waiting periods between activities. At this point, I am comfortable lurking behind the scenes designing and overseeing the events and shows while letting others receive the glory of the front lines. This is by no means a condemnation of the business that I once found to be adventurous, exciting and romantic, but just a natural progression as my male pattern balding expresses itself.
Okay, I’m Old
I used to enjoy making my living by traveling around the world mixing great music for huge crowds and meeting new and interesting people. At that time in my life, I had the disposition and the patience for the lifestyle, and I took great pleasure in living it. Now I am an AARP card-carrying elderly person who — if I had played my cards right — could have been able to retire in another year. Instead, I am a mature curmudgeon who will have to stay alive and keep working into my 90’s just to pay off some of the debt I have accrued over the years, while working in a fun and stimulating business. It’s fine for me to keep working, though, since I really don’t know what I would do if I retired. In a perfect world, I guess I would just laze around and play golf, but lazing around is not my style, and golf is not my game. Also, I still find the work I do to be interesting and invigorating, despite my advanced years. It’s just that it’s changed, and it’s different. I’ve changed, I’m different, and I’m old.
