by Brett Manero
When I turned sixteen years old, my father looked at me, snapped his fingers, and said: “It goes like that.” “Sure, Dad,” I probably thought, somewhat dismissing his words of caution as the excessive worries of a Baby Boomer.
Fast forward many years, and I just recently turned forty years old. Forty. The number of a generation in the Bible. The number of years the People of Israel spent in the wilderness before entering into the Promised Land. Forty years have passed since I was born to separated parents in Greenwich, Connecticut. From the perspective of a historian, so much has happened in that time: the Soviet Union fell and the Cold War ended; the Internet revolution changed the world; the terrorist attacks of 9/11 occurred, forever changing American foreign policy; the film industry went through its own revolution, with filmmakers now able to make entire films at home on their iPhones rather than in major studios. And so on and so on. History goes on.
Forty is a long time for human standards. In the eyes of God, it is as nothing. Turning forty was a joyous occasion, and surprisingly did not make me feel depressed in the slightest: my girlfriend took me out for brunch, got me an amazing cake and some gifts, and we enjoyed the company of many friends at the best brewery in Denver that evening. Life is pretty good.
But my mind (when it can focus, as the ADHD brain bounces around from one place to another like lightning), can’t help but think: I’m not as young as I once was, and in only twelve years I’ll be fifty-two. Incidentally, my father was fifty-two when he warned me of how quickly it passes. Obviously, I’ll be becoming a father of my own children when I’m in my early forties. And you know what? It’s okay, because it’s increasingly common these days. Having kids “later” in life will have its benefits. For one thing, the ADHD brain craves and constantly needs stimulation, and having kids to take care of and to help when they are young adults will bring me well into my sixties. I’ll have plenty to do, heaven willing. I won’t get bored. I’ll always feel like I have purpose.
Getting “older” (and seriously, I think the saying that “forty is the new thirty” has a lot of truth to it) is not so bad at all. It makes you think. It makes you pursue what you want to do and have not done yet. Because after all, I’m not getting younger, life is marching on, and time is of the essence. Pursue your dreams, cling close to God, try to leave your mark on this world, because the world is passing away. And you know what? That’s not such a bad thing.
My father was right. One day, my own son will say the same thing.
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