The Walkmen - Lisbon - Fat Possum, 2010
Aging gracefully is all at once easier said that done and a continued series of intentional decisions, both leading you to over-thinking every last detail of your apparently significant life and learning to completely throw away the concept of giving a shit. I’m a guy, so part of growing up is gray hair becoming handsome and a simple/classic wardrobe reflecting realism and a self-accepting/awareness that you wish you could time-travel-teach yourself at any age before 20 (not that any of us would listen). The irony? I’m only 29 and just now starting to experience some of the satisfaction of growing up. No longer does growing up necessarily mean ruining everything in your path to knowledge, wisdom and fame. Don’t get me wrong, I still have plenty of mire to wade through. But as I near 30, I’d like to think that MAYBE I’m doing SOMETHING in my life right. I’m still only talking about a handful of things in any given month. 1 or 2 got-it-right moments a month perhaps? But what a fucking improvement that is over constantly wiping shit off my face. At 29 years old, I’ve gotten so used to the smell of shit on my face that I don’t even notice when it’s there. Of course, everyone else notices. And I’ve started to recognize friends as the people that will still point out a brown smear if they see one. My good friends have fresh tissue in hand. Now, don’t get your hopes up that I’m going to wrap this one up with a nice bow like I normally do. Being alive for 29 years doesn’t mean shit and certainly doesn’t qualify me to give good advice. But, people, stop caring. PLEASE. There is a voice in all of us telling us what naturally comes next. Crank up the volume on that one and trust every other word it says. Learn how to distinguish it from all the fearful, terrified echos filling your heads. I’m going to keep working on this too. Hopefully, when we compare notes in 5 years, we’ll both learn how wrong I was yet again. Breaking out the Charmin…1-ply isn’t going to cut it this time.