Scenario the First

When you hit 50, you’re out of warranty: parts wear, systems fail and it’s up to you to fix them or do without. This is when you wish you’d gotten the extended warranty, which comes at a price that seemed too dear at the time (exercise, healthful diet, temperance). Now, it’s too late. Or so it might seem to a 20-something car lover; automotive metaphors rule some guys at that age—it’s all about acceleration and style. A fellow who’s achieved and embraced middle age might see it more like this:

Scenario the Second

The bottle suggests an intriguing vintage waiting to be uncorked. Pull it from the rack, note the patina of maturity and blow off any dust that may have settled. Snip the foil, release the cork and savor the essence of maturity. Such a heady aroma—only time can develop the notes of distinction, the resonant body and mellow finish of this vintage. This is to be savored, noted and appreciated.

This is the dichotomy of aging. We feel it by the time we can name all 50 states, but it becomes poignant after several decades of self-awareness. The 10-year-old revels at reaching double digits, but realizes her baby brother now trumps her cute quotient. The scrawny, bruised high-school linebacker waits for a growth spurt, wistfully recalling the simpler joys of sandlot ball.

News flash, kids: IT DOESN’T GET ANY EASIER. The aging process is supposed to prep us for the final outcome, but it’s scary at times and a bit uncomfortable throughout—like a colostomy with partial sedation. Then again, if you’re of this publication’s target demographic, you have no idea what that’s really like. Chalk up one more allusion that’s wasted on the young. So many figures of speech rely on actual experience with analog clocks, carbon paper and pre-microwave cooking. Never mind. Your whole world is digital; the Beatles were always in past tense, and you didn’t celebrate the resignation of Richard Nixon. To hell with you!

Getting old is a mixed bag—here’s the balance sheet based on one man’s perspective:

Perks

• You don’t get carded.
  
  For years, I carried a $20 bill to reward the first liquor-store clerk who checked my I.D. The prize remains unclaimed, like the hundred grand Houdini promised anyone providing evidence of the afterlife.
• You can get waited on before young people.
  
  Depending on how you’re dressed, you may be taken more seriously because people think you’re the manager/director/decision maker. Think of it as gratuitous gravitas.
• You can anticipate the morning after.
  
  Is it worth the hangover? Really? Will she seem all that foxy at 9 a.m.? After you’ve had enough regrets, you start to defer gratification. Also, you fall asleep too early to get into serious trouble.
• Your stories get better.
  
  They’re no more true, but they improve with each telling. You can burnish the same few humble recollections into captivating anecdotes. (George Gershwin kept one killer song unpublished, so he could tell each prospective conquest “your beauty inspires me to write this…”)
• Financial security.
  
  OK, it’s not real security for most of us, especially with kids hitting you up for more expensive things (“Tuition is going up again” or “I know a guy who can put in a used transmission for only $1700”). It’s just that you no longer have to budget for a month to afford a new pair of jeans—you simply buy them at resale and spend your money on important things like a ticket to the Barry Manilow retrospective at the local art cinema.
• Discounts.
  
  It’s jarring at first to be offered a quarter off a cup of coffee. Then, you get used to it and ask for the privilege. Live it up, Julian. Order a second round of prune smoothies!
• No need for birth control.
  
  After a certain age, it’s all safe sex. Just make sure to take a nap and get plenty of fiber.
• You recognize the scams.
  
  After you’ve been burned a few times, you know the smell of smoldering flesh. “My uncle has a can’t-fail investment scheme.” Oh, really?! “Microsoft will pay $245 for every person you forward this to.” Sure they will! “I know this girl who’s a real princess from Luxembourg.” Of course she is! Once you’ve bought into enough dreams that go south, you develop a filtering mechanism. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice … I’m starting to wise up. Fool me three times and I’ll tell the library you still have their CD of “Phil Collins Sings the Wayne Newton Songbook.”
• Weird behavior is dismissed as eccentric.
  
  You can snort, scratch and drool with impunity. Youngsters chalk it up to age; seniors wink meaningfully—or is that a tic that somebody should look at?

Pitfalls

• Reality doesn’t match your self-image.
  
  Inside, you’re still the strapping young buck who’s ready to take on the world—but the world sees you as a paunchy, delusional has-been.
• The grown-up table is less fun.
  
  There’s a downside to the whole dignity thing. Blow a straw wrapper and you’re charmingly nostalgic; tweak a kid’s ear and you’re a sex offender. Weigh the risks and rewards before acting.
• You fall asleep at 9:30.
  
  You’re so damned responsible, you can’t have a good time if it’s gift-wrapped and fully deductible. The last time you stayed up past 1 a.m. involved an emergency room and an elderly relative.
• Male pattern baldness.
  
  Thank your maternal grandfather. You can fight becoming a monk, though. Now, there’s Rogaine^TM and Viagra^TM for the other unwanted monastic effects.
• Hot flashes.
  
  Guys don’t get them, of course, but why should only women suffer? Think of it as a contact high for grownups. She’s sweating, so you find yourself with windows open during a snowstorm.
• Your music is SO 1980s.
  
  Or 70s. Pick your prime decade. If it starts with 19, you’re a fossil. Not the cute watch kind—but, wait, that’s old too. Never mind; you’re as square as a 1984 Volvo.
• Your medications change.
  
  You used to feed your head; now you baby your bowels. You appreciate having chemical tweaks to what ails you, but somehow you just feel a bit confused at times … where was I? … Heck, where AM I?!

The Wrap

The world is an unfolding wonder. You are a child of the universe. This is the best of all possible worlds. North and South Dakota will reunite. What’s good for Halliburton is good for the country. It’s only a cold sore.

Believe what you like. Bottom line, for us AARP types, is that any day you can wake up to struggle on is a good one. (consider the alternatives to aging)—I just want to live long enough to pay off a mortgage and annoy my own grandchildren. I’ve been practicing on other people’s grandchildren, but now the parents are starting to squint at me and pull the kids away.

My advice: Look into the mirror and count your blessings. While counting, you’ll probably feel a wave of nostalgia for the New Math they tried to foist off on you years ago. Then, you’ll realize it’s just the Flomax^TM kicking in.