A Writer Looks At Forty....
Here I stand on the precipice of forty, a little over two weeks until I have a different number in front of my age for the first time in a decade. Honestly, it’s not so much the number that gets me, but rather the chaotic cacophony of circumstances in which I find myself yet again, in perfect, coincidental harmony with a milestone birthday. I am a writer, and though I profess to be neither a great writer nor even a good one, I am a writer nonetheless. When it comes to my life, however, my actual, physical existence, there are some things that I couldn’t conjure up even on the most heavily Ambien induced evenings.
So here I stand, amidst my life in transition, helpless to slow or stall the forces that swirl around me in a tempest of uncertainty. I cannot say that it is a good feeling by any means. At the same time, though, uncertainty brings excitement, surprise, and anticipation. It is times like these, these poignant pinpoints in our personal histories, when the involuntary reflex of reflection overrides our cognition. For me, I cannot help but be cliché and turn to the words of Jimmy Buffett set out in his ode to aging, A Pirate Looks at Forty:
“Mother, mother ocean, I've heard you call. Wanted to sail upon your waters, since I was three feet tall… You've seen it all, you've seen it all.”
Those that have been to my home have seen the walls adorned with scenes of schooners and sailing ships. Both astute and casual readers of this blog are also well aware of my fascination with the water, as I have written multiple times about my “Serenity Point” on the lake. There is something inherently alluring about the sea, its tranquility, its violence, and the memories that lie within the water. Scientifically, human beings are primarily composed of water, should it should come as no surprise that there are those of us with a strong aquatic attraction. For me, simply put, the sea makes me smile.
“Watched the men who rode you, switch from sails to steam. And in your belly you can hold the treasures few have ever seen…. Most of ‘em dreams, most of ‘em dreams.”
Granted, having been born in a different era than the song’s composer, I have not witnessed a fundamental change in the way sailing ships operate upon the sea in my lifetime. That being said, the sea is a beautiful, mysterious and mystical creature. Regardless of what vessels traverse its waves, whether, sail, steam, diesel or even nuclear driven, the sea has claimed them all. There is a raw power that lies in its waters, drawing to its floor coin and copper, machines and memories. Despite all our technological advances, there is still so much the sea will not reveal. As a writer, the sea to me is akin to a diary, one which remains locked and open only to my imagination.
“Yes, I am a pirate two hundred years too late. Cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder, I'm an over forty victim of fate… Arriving too late, arriving too late.”
Webster’s Dictionary defines a “pirate” as one who “robs or commits illegal violence at sea or on the shores of the sea.” Frankly I don’t think Jimmy Buffett truly believes himself to be a pirate in the literal sense, and neither do I see myself that way. We all have our interpretations of literary and musical works, and when I read this passage, I can relate in many ways. For me, being a pirate too late, in the context of these words, means lacking freedom. Illegal as pirates’ actions may have been, they lived by their code as independent men, free from the shackles of tyranny, in control of their lives to the extent fate would allow. Now, we live a life of constraint, governed by laws and rules from which there is no escape. Societal convention dictates we do what we’re supposed to do and nothing more for fear of repercussion, or regret. What kind of man would I have been? Would I have been a pirate? An aristocrat? A blacksmith or a mason? Too late, fate delivered me to this word, to answer those questions.
“I've done a bit of smugglin', I've run my share of grass. Made enough money to buy
I often try, when looking back upon the tapestry of my existence, to do so without regret. My past, and the actions I took or failed to take therein, have made me who I am. I have done a bit of smuggling, though not in the literal sense. I think we all have. I have carried with me, concealed from others’ prying eyes, a great many secrets, emotions, and opinions. It’s something we do. I have reaped the rewards of doing so, and suffered the consequences. Life is full of both ethereal and material things, things that come and go, things that fill a place or serve a purpose in our time, though they aren’t meant to be enduring. Take for granted none of these things, for good or bad, they will occupy and become a part of you forever, though the moment itself in which these things and experiences may not.
“And I have been drunk now for over two weeks. Passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks. But I've got to stop wishin', got to go fishin', I'm down to rock bottom again, Just a few friends, just a few friends.”
Figuratively, this is perhaps the most applicable passage of the song for me as I write this. The last two weeks have been a blur, simultaneously dulling and enraging my senses to the point of driving my body, and mind, into pure, physical exhaustion. I have begun to recover, but not without additional pangs and problems along the way. Once again I find myself at a place in my life where I neither expected nor desire to be. However, wishing and dreaming that my circumstances were different will not deliver me to paradise. If it is paradise I seek, I must seek it out as opposed to waiting for it to arrive upon my shores. So to rock bottom I’ve gone. I am blessed, truly blessed, however, to have those in my life that have both the courage to let me fall and the compassion to lift me back up when I do. They are my lifeblood, a part of me as important as the lungs with which I breathe. With the aide of their firm grasp, I climb.
“I go for younger women, lived with several awhile. Though I ran them away, they come back one day and still could manage a smile, it just takes awhile, just takes awhile….”
“I go for younger women, lived with several awhile. Though I ran them away, they come back one day and still could manage a smile, it just takes awhile, just takes awhile….”
Sadly, those that know me well know that there is far too much literal truth in this passage. I can neither change the events that shaped me, nor decisions I’ve made. I am lucky, however, in that those affected by my falters have been forgiving, whether friends, family, or the occasional younger woman. I suppose its true that time heals all wounds, though it cannot erase the pain felt at the time the wound was inflicted. Thankfully the pain becomes but a memory and eventually fades into triviality, paving the way for faint and growing smiles.
“Mother, mother ocean, after all my years I've found, my occupational hazard being my occupation’s just not around. I feel like I've drowned but I’m not gonna frown. I feel like I've drowned, gonna head into town….”
The years of my life have passed quickly, far too quickly, to bring me to the age of forty. I have accomplished many things, things of which I should be proud. I have simultaneously done many things that I terribly regret, though I cannot change them now. Occupationally (speaking figuratively), there are those things I desire but cannot achieve, and as a result I find myself feeling overwhelmed. Yes, I’m turning forty. No, I cannot describe my life at this moment as being what I had desired or expected. There are those times I want to scream or cry or simply curl myself up so tightly that the pressure with which I do so will cause me to simply shrink, and disappear. And then I open my eyes, and realize that there is a destination I have not yet reached. I cannot frown because I am me, I am alive, and there are so many wondrous things and people surrounding me that I cannot help but be hopeful.
So here I stand, looking at forty not through a telescope but through a window in a door. Soon that door will unlock, and I shall pass through it with inevitability. The question is whether I do so backwards, staring longingly at that which I am leaving behind, or with a simple glance over my shoulder.
No, Jimmy, I won’t wear a frown. I will head into town. What the hell. I’ve never been there before.