Age: It's All In or Nothing

A brief break from my "This House" series...

On a recent day, a young man, who I was getting to know, was in my company. As we lay face to face in only the way that people "getting to know one another" do, I asked him if he ever thinks about the fact that I am fifty-two years of age. He told me that he does not think about it--he does not think about it at all. He then asked me if I think about it, and I confessed to him that I do indeed think about it. I told him that I think about how it would play out to get "involved" with someone younger than I, given that there is a possibility that right now, unbeknownst to me, there is something inside me, getting ready to ramp up, that may lead to my death.

So, yeah, I do think about my age.

I know it's not romantic, but I think about these things--just not in the way you might expect. Age, as a concept, is a sticky one, isn't it? Better yet, it is slippery. Over the years, the topic of age has slipped all around the place, never landing for long in one perspective. When I was a child, anyone who was in their fifties was old! They were often grandparents, and overweight, and certainly not sexy, not sexy at all. But then something happened. In the 70's people started taking care better care of themselves, at least exercise-wise. They cut back on smoking and drinking, at least compared to the 60's and earlier, and they ate better. Natural and organic foods started to show up, and aerobics became popular.

Along with these changes, many public figures refused to "get old". It seems that for many, it is no longer acceptable to "age" when you don't "have to", and many people remained active, relevant, and sexually appealing after forty. Nowadays, of course, there is procedural assistance, and many people in their fifties and older have faces devoid of wrinkles! So what does it mean to age? Is there a difference between wanting to be healthy as one gets older, and wanting to look forever young? (Hint: Of COURSE there is.)

***
I used to be very very very active, so active that it was nearly ridiculous. In my twenties, in San Diego, I would take dance classes all day, work in a bar until 3am, nap for a couple of hours until my day job at 6 am, then go back to class when I got off .

Me in dance class in my 20's

I would rehearse for shows while teaching dance and choreographing for my own group, then race up to L.A. to take more classes. In my thirties I was doing it all in L.A. while working catering gigs, often racking up 18 hour work days on events. For one job I would start at 5 am and do deliveries all day only to return in the evening to load up a party, deliver and set it up, run the floor, then break it down and return to the kitchen at 2 am. Then in my forties I worked full time at Whole Foods Market while taking 12 units per quarter in grad school, eventually adding an internship that was basically an unpaid part time job.

Me doing ALC in my 30's

All through this, I took pretty good care of myself. I always consumed below moderate levels of alcohol (and other stuff), and as I learned how to cook, I ate healthier. I have been working out since I was fourteen years old, and have cycled all my life. I do yoga and I drink lots of water, I get regular sleep, blah blah blah. But now, in my fifties, I am tired! I am not exactly sitting in a rocking chair though. I am building a psychotherapy practice in a crowded field and an economy that values physical beauty over mental health. I have no back up plan, no safety net. I still bike or take public transit everywhere, and I still work out at least three times a week and do yoga. But for me, that is slowing down! I like being at home at night, not running around town doing who knows what. There is SO much going on just outside my door but I am more interested in what is happening behind my closed door, with myself as company.

The potential of romance was a big factor in my past nutso activity level. Though I was a hard worker and loved most of what I did, I was also aware of an underlying hope that one of the many activities I engaged in would lead to meeting "The One". Can you imagine such a crazy idea? But here is the thing about that, from my much lived-in perspective: I just don't care about that anymore. The reality about the idea of The One is that it is only a story, and nothing more. This story is true for some, not for others. It was true for me until it wasn't any longer, in other words, there were a lot of unfinished first acts. There were some great loves, some shitty loves, some okay loves, and some really good sex mixed up in all of it. But for me, the only "one" for me has turned out to be, well, me. I wrote about this earlier so I won't rehash it now, except to repeat that I am not quitting--just stepping off the road and sitting on a sidewalk bench. There is plenty of room for someone to sit next to me, if they wish.

***
The story of The One has great power. In fact, you might be able to see how religion, at its core, is the ultimate story of The One, since it properly places Perfect Love right out of reach, thereby sustaining desire, hope, and pursuit. Many religious folk do their best to bring the story down to earth in their own human pairings, and many succeed quite well. My niece recently got married to the first boy she has seriously dated, and since they are Mormon, they see their marriage as being "for eternity".

As a story, this works for the Mormons precisely because it is so over the top. If you are going to invest in the story of The One, you MUST be all in or it won't work. If you doubt one parcel of it the whole thing could start to crumble--except for the Jews, whose faith is strengthened through questioning and investigation. My lovely niece is sure to have a happy marriage, happier than most, because she is wholly invested in a story that nearly erases doubt and extraneous expectation. But that doesn't make her belief the truth, or the way she got married the correct way--at least not for everybody. I am sure she loves her husband (as much as one can love their first), but the church tells her what to expect from a marriage, and I suspect that she, like other Mormon wives, fully accept this dictate*. They have to, otherwise they might look at their husbands and say, at some point, "Who am I and who are you?" Questions like that are not always great for storybook marriage, but they are fantastic for living a life like mine.

For me, the choice between options was yanked away when I realized that gay people didn't get to participate in storybook marriages. At first, I was lost, and tried to find my prince despite not being wanted in the kingdom, but now I cherish my chosen life as much as my niece cherishes her dictated life. I am "all in". But both are still based on stories. The only difference is that I am more of a co-author of my story, and at this point I have killed off the character of The One (even though nowadays the storybook marriage is available to me). It just doesn't work with my storyline.

My storyline requires regular editing, because, you know, things change! This gives me an advantage in that I don't get hung up on things being a certain way, forever, because they aren't. If you don't like that fact, then I guess you have to make up a story that makes you feel more comfortable (like the Mormons). No harm there, I suppose, unless they feel that their story needs to be everybody else's story (they do). With my story, I have the support of science, which means that it is not just my story, but the story of nature and physics. Argue with that, bitches!

That is why, when I find myself lying face to face with a young man, I cannot just stick to the story that I am also young. I do think about it! It is easy for a young person to have a story that says "age is just a number", but for someone of age, that is not necessarily true! Young folks see a sixty year old as old, while sixty-five year olds give themselves another five years before they will admit to joining that club. My question is, what are the boundaries of old age based on?

Age is not just a number, age is aging, but aging is not necessarily getting old. What aging looks like is up to the individual, biology and heredity, the culture, and the environment. I will agree with most that "you are as old as you feel". Most days I feel pretty "young", while other days I feel "older", but perhaps I am just tired--a state of feeling that I pretty much bulldozed out of my life for many years, but now openly welcome with a lovely afternoon nap or an evening relaxing at home. I do know that while I want to feel good, I have no desire to be thirty-five anymore. It is too tiring, and not as interesting to me now as it was at the time. I like my life now, and if that life includes occasions where I can take a nap one day, then lay face to face another day with someone who reminds me what it "feels like" to be younger, then so be it. It's something worth thinking about, don't you think?

*Great article here about how religion gets 'em through social consent.

i'm 50!!!!!

my 50 year old face

can i really be 50???

let's take a look at my face again:

me. unretouched.

does it look 50?  hmm...maybe in this picture it looks more like 50 feet high!  the difficulty with evaluating my face is that the face, by itself, is rarely up for solo evaluation.  it is, rather, generally seen as part and parcel of the rest of me, i.e. my arms, legs, chest, stomach.  you get the idea.  it is my belief that when people make an assessment of my age, they take into account an "average" of the ages that they assign to my various parts (face: 42, legs: 30, stomach: 28, etc.).  perhaps.  i suspect that this is a lightning fast process.  but here, at the top of this post, i am presenting the task of just looking at my face, as a separate and isolated representative of "me".

when i look at the pictures of my face above, i think that it looks like the face of a man who may be 36-44 years old, with the given that the picture was taken on a morning when the "subject" was "tired".  i notice things in the picture that i don't always notice when i look at myself in the mirror, namely, my wrinkles.  but i don't think that this is the face of what i would think a 50 year old man would look like.

good news, i suppose, if my goal is to look younger than i actually am.

in truth, i don't know that looking younger is my goal.  i come to this conclusion based on the fact that i NEVER lie about my age.  never.  and i could!  so if i wanted to look younger, it is interesting that i willingly deflate that illusion with the truth about my age.  i think that what i prefer is to look like a healthy person who happens to be 50.  i think that healthy people are attractive no matter what their age is.

not surprisingly, even healthy people get wrinkles as they age.  i did not expect to get to the age of 50 without having a wrinkle or two.  in fact, i "like" my wrinkles, since they speak to the fact that i have lived some life--50 years of life, to be exact.  i know of many people here in los angeles, including men, who inject all kinds of things into their faces in order to get rid of the wrinkles.  though i might look "better" if i were to engage in one of these procedures, i would never do it.  this is because, as stated earlier, my goal is not to look younger.  i have no shame about being 50, just a bit of confusion, but confusion is not shame!

just for fun, i played around with the "retouch" feature of my photo software, and i smoothed out my face.  this is what i came up with:

my 50 year old face, retouched

i smoothed out my forehead and took away the lines and circles under my eyes, and i generally smoothed out my skin.  presto!  when i look at this picture, i notice right away that i look "fresher", especially around the eyes.  i do look younger, but i am torn about whether i look "better".  you decide!

***

regardless, i do feel that i am holding up pretty well.  this is due to genetics, but also my dedication to "moderation" across the board.  not too much of anything, not too little of anything.  basically, i do what my body, as an animal, needs in order to be strong and healthy.  i eat good food and exercise vigorously.  not much of a secret to share there.  it really is that simple.  and the good news is that when you commit to moderation, there is not really anything that you have to "give up"!  (granted, i stay away from junk foods and never drink soda, but then who wants to eat and drink those things when real food and beverage taste so damn much better?)

speaking of the body, i admit that it is unfair that i have not allowed you the opportunity to include the "rest of me" in the assessment.  this is because the "rest of me" is somewhat ridiculous in its youthfulness.  lacking the thin skin of the face, the other parts have fared quite well, despite years of early sun damage.  let's take a look:

my 50 year old chest

this is my chest.  not too big, not too small, it has not yet succumb to "drooping", thankfully.  people like it, i like it.  pretty simple.  for me, a strong and attractive chest has always been important, but i don't think that this is just me.  the chest symbolizes strength and masculinity, and there is really nothing worse for a man than to be accused of having "moobs".  one of my favorite positions "post-relations" has always been to have a guy rest his head on my chest.  i could just lay like this until my limbs go numb.

my 50 year old arm

this is my left arm in a bicep pose.  that is not a tan line, but a shadow, i think.  i have always had these crazy biceps--for as long as i can remember.  (that is the genetics part.)  but i don't take them for granted.  i make these suckers curl 80 lb barbells at least once or twice a week.  my family used to joke that i had tennis balls in my arms.  ha ha!  funny!  well, nobody is joking now!

my arms have done a boatload of work during my lifetime.  i would venture to say that my arms have done 2 or 3 boatloads of work during my lifetime.  to date, they continue to work tirelessly for me:  lifting boxes at work, steering my bicycle, endlessly supporting typing hands, carrying, pushing, opening, balancing, you name it.  except for some recent elbow soreness and a tender wrist joint, both of which i am monitoring and caring for, they continue to do their job without protest.  when i was a dancer, many years ago, their job was to create beauty in movement; to counter a balance, to lift a partner, to punctuate an emotion.  as a therapist, their job is more neutral:  to remain in an open position in order to signify, well, openness.  occasionally, when the situation calls for it, they are front and center in the act of providing a hug--their role being to sort of "contain pain", or sometimes merely to keep someone from collapsing.  as strong as they are, they are at their best when doing gentle, beautiful work.

my 50 year old stomach, slightly blurry

this is my stomach, with just the flintiest bit of underwear band showing.  i must say, i am proud of this stomach, cuz this is a bitch to keep.  it has been better, it has been worse. but when i look at this i do not see a 50 year old stomach.  by the way, just the other night i ate a quarter gallon of ice cream--but i don't do that everyday!  for me the best thing about having this stomach is that i get to wear the pants that i like to wear, and i get to take my shirt off whenever i am able.  i like fitted pants and shirts, and i can only wear them if i keep my stomach looking like this.  totally worth it!

for some reason, my memory of coming out to my mother is tied to my stomach.  that is because what i remember about that night, 23 years ago, is that when my mother asked me if i was a homosexual, i immediately felt like i was going to throw up.  my stomach turned inside out, but it also felt as though it had just suffered a severe blow.  either way, my 17 year old self nearly doubled over with shame and horror at what my mother had just asked, and through my tear-blurred vision i looked at her and did the only thing i knew that would protect my mother: i lied...

...but not for long.

they say that the stomach, or solar plexus region, is the core of a body's strength, and i believe it.  for me, all i need to see of a person is their stomach, and i can tell you right away what kind of shape they are in.  i keep my stomach flat for the reasons mentioned above, but there is a more base objective that i don't talk about as much, and that is so that i am ready for whatever comes at me.

my 50 year old legs

these are, well, my legs.  again, genetics.  mom was swedish and was tall and slender like me, so fortunately i got the swedish legs in the genetic lottery.  but boy do i work these suckers in the gym.  plus, i bike an average of 10 miles a day in my commuting.  these legs are strong and long, and i plan on having them serve me for many years to come, and this is why i take such good care of them.  but beyond that, there is a vanity aspect to my intention.  it seems that so many men spend the majority of their time in the gym working chests and arms, and very little time working legs.  i often see beautiful upper bodies and underdeveloped legs.  ugh.  being the type of person who likes to stand out in the crowd, i work my legs, and i do it in these shorts.  no baggy knee length jams for me!

it wasn't until i was in college for the first time, at the age of 18, that i discovered what my legs could do, beyond attracting college men.  i was at the naval academy in annapolis, md., and i had joined the crew team in an effort to offset the rumors that were developing around me possibly being "different".  you see, crew team members are like royalty on the east coast, more than football players.  it is as if football players are movie stars, but rowers are the real actors.  most people have the impression that rowing is a matter of back and arm strength, but they are mistaken.  rowing is about leg strength, something that i discovered i had in spades.  i was so strong, in fact, that i was assigned the position of "stroke" (no jokes, please!), which is the guy who sits right in back of the coxswain (please, no jokes!!), and sets the tempo of the rowing for the team in the boat.  it was heaven for me.  i went from being a sensitive brainy geek in high school to being a respected and admired athlete at an ivy league military academy.  all because of my legs!

i only stayed at the academy for two years, though, as i did not see a future for me in either engineering, or in the service, and so in the summer of 1982 i came home from maryland and that very summer i enrolled in another leg-punishing discipline:  ballet class.  for the next 20 years i would work as a dancer of ballet, jazz, tap, and musical theater, performing jumps, turns, arabesques, kicks, and on and on across stages all over the country.

as a bike commuter, my legs continue to answer to my demands, albeit with a different set of muscles being engaged.  perhaps more than any other body part, i owe a debt of gratitude to my legs.  it boggles my mind that most legs are used primarily to walk to cars or walk into elevators.  it is like having a powerful, wild stallion, and limiting it to giving kiddie rides.  seems like such a waste...

***

so what do you get when you add up the parts?  36?  41?  47?  does it matter?  not to me, so much.  i think it mattered more before i turned 50, but now, one week in, not so much.  what does matter to me is that i am still alive, and that i still have a face, chest, arms, stomach, and legs that work for me.  there are other "parts" of me that feel retired at the moment, but that is for another blog, another day!  what i am aware of is that the "age assessment" may have different meaning in san francisco than it does here in los angeles.  i am looking forward to seeing if i am considered "hot in san francisco".  i am tired of being considered the "guy who looks really good for 50".  how about just the guy who looks good?  perhaps location is everything.  but far be it for me to complain about a compliment!

and so we end up back where we started--at the face.  the face, unlike the legs or the stomach, show some mileage, but that is okay, because when i look at the pictures, they eyes still show me.  me, lived.  maybe that is why i don't lie about my age, because beyond the shock of seeing people realize that i am older than they think i am, there is the satisfaction of claiming the years that i have lived, proudly.

i am 50.

i am 50.

I AM 50!!

the new "dignified" me

the thing about aging

i should probably add a "part one" designator to this post, since there is a lot about aging that i need to write about. let's see how it goes first, though, in the body of this post, before i start messing with the title and making promises of sequels to come.

now you may wonder what could be so bad about the prospect of aging in los angeles. and if you are one of those people who are wondering about this, i will probably assume that either a) you do not live in los angeles; or b) you are young. granted, it could also be that, like me, you are aging in los angeles, but, unlike me, you are loving it; but then it would be best that you confine that experience to your own blogs, or to the comments section of this one. because, readers, this post is about how aging in los angeles sucks, so you might as well strap in for the ride.

***

the other day i went to a dermatologist to have my skin looked at for sun damage. as a kid of the 70's (back when a tan was considered healthy and farrah fawcett was the image of bronzed health), i have had my share of exposure to the sun. i have probably had more than my share, since in southern california in the 70's one would often spend considerable time acquiring that healthy "golden glow". those of us with darker skin are not immune from the long term effects of the sun, either. i remember how, in his later years, my father had problems with cancerous lesions on his face that had to be removed, and he was full blooded mexican, so i want to make sure that there is nothing pre-cancerous on my face.

anyway, in the paperwork i had to fill out before the exam, there were not only the usual questions about my health history and the reasons why i was there, but i also was questioned on whether or not i thought i looked younger, older, or exactly my age, and if i was okay with any wrinkles i might have on my face. uh, okay. in a nutshell, i answered "younger", and "yes", respectively. now, let me clarify that i do in fact look younger than my age, and there are several reasons why that might be, but i think it is primarily because i have taken really great care of my health for many years, and it seems to be paying off. but i also have wrinkles, folks. i have them on my forehead, and i have them under my eyes. but i am 47 years old!my face is the face of a (healthy) 47 year old! so...i think that i only look younger than my age because most people my age look olderthan their age--i am what 47 should look like!


but looking healthy is not enough in los angeles. you can't have wrinkles!

really. i mean, really.(where is katherine hepburn when we need her?) wrinkles signify age, and that is becoming more and more of a negative in this town, even for men. for all the talk of how 40 is the new 20, there is an equal amount of talk about how you begin to lose cultural significance as you get older.

the only way that you can be important and visible in los angeles as an older person is if you are either famous or rich. being both helps tremendously. otherwise, you are pretty much out of the picture. i dare you to challenge me on this. now it doesn't help that there are so many older people here who are completely off their rockers...i mean, bat-shit crazy. and when i see these people, i can't help but wonder if they turned crazy as they got older, or if they were that way when they were young. in other words, does los angeles make you crazy if you stay here long enough?

take the old people who come into whole foods, for instance. there is betty, who is known for throwing her poop all over the women's bathroom, when she does not crap her pants; and there is that guy with the bad toupee who always wears the usa olympic windbreaker and pretty much samples his way through the store, buying nothing, then gets angry when you question how many samples he is taking from the hotbar; then there is the african american dude who told me once that salt was a poison because it is used to clean car radiators(?), and then wanted to know why we use it in so many of our recipes, and that what did i know because i didn't do 100 push ups a day like he did (what???), and when i told him "okay, sir", and turned away, he called me a fucking faggot white boy (what??????); and then there is the woman known as "grandma", who won't allow a black person to serve her pizza, and...must i go on??

i wish it weren't this way. it would be nice if the older people who shopped there were nice, and aware, and wise, and interesting, and engaged (like i hope to be). i would even take two out of five. but maybe, just maybe, that is not possible in los angeles. maybe, if you stay here long enough to become invisible, you just go nuts. i don't know. i don't know.

***

i remember how, many many years ago, my sister and her family were visiting at our house in san diego from where they lived in northern california. as their summer visit came to an end, and they were preparing to drive north to their home, one of their young daughters became nearly hysterical at the thought of driving through los angeles during the daytime. she was convinced that they would never get through. i remember her crying and full of fear, saying "we can'tgo through los angeles, we just won't make it!" her fear was so real and tragic. my sister did her best to comfort and reassure her, and of course, they did drive through los angeles that day, and they did make it through all the way back to placerville, but that image has stayed with me for all these years, for some reason. there was something very terrifying about los angeles to my young niece, much as there is to me today.

it wasn't always this way. i used to like los angeles more. when i first got here nearly 20 years ago, it was a goal of mine to conquer this city (i'm gonna own this town!). it was difficult for sure, as it always is getting used to a new city, but i felt that this is where i wanted to be, as a performer, and that in no short time i would find my place here. and people were different back then as well. this was before the internet, before cell phones, before all the gadgets that now serve so effectively as shields against relating to others in real life. but i slowly began to notice something about this city as i lived and worked here over time and had an opportunity to live in several different areas within the city limits. what i noticed is that living in los angeles is like having all your greatest fears move into your neighborhood, and then finding out that they all make more money than you do. what i noticed is that despite the increased connection that our phones and the internet offer us 24/7, people seem lonelier than ever. what i noticed is that the more that young folks have gained financial and cultural power, the angrier they have become. what i noticed is that i began to stop loving los angeles.

but the biggest red flag for me has been noticing how all the above have affected my own interpersonal relationships--in many ways, i have responded positively, and in many ways, i have not. without boring you with the particulars, i will say that when i draw a straight line from who i am today to who i will probably end up being if i stay in los angeles, i don't like what i foresee. in other words, as i get older, this city works against my developmental quirks. in other words, i don't want to end up going nuts.