Today is my last day of of my thirties. A farewell note to the decade is fitting.
On my thirtieth birthday, I drove to Santa Barbara to spend the day with my Dad. We took lots of walks together, and he reminded me — teasingly — of my grandfather’s old maxim: “Thirty is when a young man stops being promising.” Though I was going through a turbulent time in my life, I felt excited to be turning thirty. I remember looking at my face in the mirror, noting the beginning of the crow’s feet and the smile lines, and feeling a strange mix of anxiety and anticipation. I was anxious about getting older, anxious about losing what I thought was my fleeting attractiveness, anxious about not living up to the expectations of others.
My twenties, frankly, were an extended adolescence. My second divorce had become final one month before I turned thirty, but I still felt awkward calling myself a “man.” I was acutely uncomfortable being addressed as “Sir”, “Mr.”, or “Professor.” The son of two academics, I always joked that when I heard “Professor Schwyzer”, I wanted to turn around and see if my father or mother was in the room. I cultivated the image of a slightly older peer to my students. I wanted to inhabit an in-between space, neither fully adult nor fully adolescent. (Cue that Britney song about “not a girl, not yet a woman.”) At thirty, most of my friends were considerably younger than myself, and I felt uncomfortable around chronological peers.
I grew up in my thirties. Mind you, I don’t think my adolescence needed to be prolonged as long as it was. I made a conscious choice to stay stuck, and I know darned well that I could have chosen to extricate myself from that mess much earleir. But regardless, adulthood finally happened to me in my thirties — and what a happy (if at times agonizing) growing up it turned out to be.
I’m going to be 40 tomorrow, and people have been asking me if I feel 40. I do feel 40, and I think 40 feels amazing. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been, happier than I’ve ever been, pushing myself harder than ever. The wrinkles are getting deeper; my face is well on its way to being deeply lined. I like seeing the wrinkles come. No botox or face lifts for this fella; bring on the outward and visible signs of experience, of hard work, of endless miles logged in sun and chill and biting wind.
I never thought I’d make it to 40. Many people in my family never thought I’d make it to 40. But the darkness did abate, the “black dog” of depression ran away, though I remain vigilant against his return. I’ve loved my thirties, especially the truly glorious second half. My friends in their forties tell me it’s going to get even better, and I can’t wait.
I am a very, very lucky man.
y’know, regular use of sunscreen or sunblock might be able to repress some of those deeper wrinkles.
Well congratulations on the big four-oh and best of luck for your fifth decade!
I haven’t been reading your blog for too long but I really appreciate your willingness to grapple with tough issues with candor and frankness in your writing. That honesty is what keeps me reading what you have to offer, and I am sure that your intellect and wisdom will increase and deepen over the next few years.
Congrats on reaching the Fore-oh! mark - may you see many more.
And from this side of the century, you still look like a babe. ;)
Oh, I am a great sunscreen user. (Trying to buy cruelty-free, staying away from parabens, etcetera). But even with all the sunscreen in the world, it can’t prevent the damage done by wind and hours and hours of beating up the body out doors.
But I like my wrinkles. I wouldn’t give up one of them. I care about how my body works on the inside, not so much about how it looks on the outside. I’m vain, mind you, just about different things…
Tyler thanks, and thanks Mr. B!
Hey, happy birthday Hugo! An Uncle Monty quote from Withnail & I for you: “It is the most shattering experience of a young man’s life…when one morning he awakes and quite reasonably says to himself, “I will never play the Dane.”
Love it! I’ll be a hell of a Lear!
Happy 40th, Hugo! Rock on.
“I’m going to be 40 tomorrow, and people have been asking me if I feel 40. I do feel 40, and I think 40 feels amazing.” - HS
What does “40″ mean? Most of all, what does “40″ feel like, look like?
I just turned 35 last week. People tell me I don’t look like a 35 year old. What does a 35 year old look like?
A friend of mine asked how old I was at a little birthday celebration I had. I didn’t tell him exactly how old but said I was slightly older than he was (He turned 34 in February - I told him how much older I was than him last year but he apparently forgot). He said he was old. I said that I was not.
Personally, I think these ideas of what 30, 35 and 40 (or any age save early childhood when there are clear developmental goals people have to meet) are supposed to look and act like are arbitrary and ultimately meaningless.
I admit that for a while I had been angsting about all the things I feel like I should have done by this age and have not (like having a serious, long term relationship, a dazzling career on Wall Street). Somehow, I got over it in time for my birthday.
Still, it would be good if you could elaborate upon what it means to feel 40. Granted, you don’t have so much experience being 40 as of yet but it would be good to get your imnpressions so that I know what to look forward to in 5 years.
Happy 40, Hugo.
As for you being lucky, I disagree. You’re right where you chose to put yourself. That’s determination, not luck. I would agree that you’re very fortunate to have overcome the things you have, but making a conscious decision to change isn’t luck.
Anyway, best wishes and thanks for how you’ve helped me.
Happy birthday!!
This one makes sence “One’s first step in wisdom is to kuesstion everything - and one’s last is to come to terms with everything.”