Archives for June 2009

Age is just a number, right. That is what they say. It is all about your state of mind and right now my mind is covering more than a few states. Maybe I should blame it on The London Symphony and their version of The Final Countdown.

Yeah, that is the ticket. Think that I’ll switch to The Moody Blues Nights in White Satin or Tuesday Afternoon and follow it up with Layla. Not that any of it matters, it is just a way of avoiding the topic of age. Or rather my way of saying that I am still adjusting to turning 40.

Yep, it bothers me a bit, not so much the number itself but the guy I see in the mirror. I close my eyes and I picture myself and I see the body that I used to have. It is hard, stomach is cut and the muscles ripple as I move. Bruises, aches and pains are things that happen periodically, but they don’t last long enough to be noticeable.

Sleep is something that I stumble upon every once in a while, but I don’t seem to notice a lack of it. And let’s not forget a very forgiving metabolism.

But that was then and this is now. Now the face that looks back at me is clearly older, no one ever mistakes me for being twenty something. And that is perfectly fine with me. I don’t care about that. A few lines in my face and a little less hair aren’t issues.

What I am fighting are the other things that have come along with the age. It is so much harder to stay in shape. I am certainly thicker in places than I used to be and the bruises, aches and pains visit me frequently and stay longer than they used to. I suppose that some of the elasticity of tendons, ligaments and joints has disappeared.

If the body is a classic car than it is a daily battle to maintain a clean interior and exterior. The fight to polish it is just never ending and I can understand how some people just let it all slip away.

Inertia.

Battling inertia is tough. It takes a lot of hard work and enormous discipline to do what needs to be done so that the motor runs the way that you want it to. And it is a battle that can be incredibly frustrating.

I have changed my exercise regimen and begun incorporating new elements that seem be yielding big dividends, but still one challenge remains.

Diet.

I hate that damn word. Diet- there is a reason why “die” is part of diet and it is not positive. Ok, I shouldn’t be negative, you’re right. But damn, I like to eat. Why must the foods I like the most be so problematic.

But I look in the mirror and I am not satisfied. I don’t have to be the 20 year old I used to be. I earned these wrinkles and scars and I am ok with that.

I suppose that what I am really saying is that I am not willing to accept a body that doesn’t respond better than this one does. I am not that old, not yet. There is no reason for some of this.

Confession time. One of the things that scares me is that at some point in time my body just won’t work anymore. I can accept many things, but I can’t accept that. So here I am with my basketball games, my weights and my kettlebells trying to do something to prevent that.

I can’t guarantee that I won’t ever have to deal with that, but with a little preventative maintenance maybe I can stave it off for about 68 years. And now if you’ll excuse me I have to go stretch. Sitting in front of this has given rise to a kink in my back that is killing me.

But what do I care, because age is just a number…right.

Come Back– Moshav

For the past three days or so I have been meaning to write this post, or at least try to write it. It hasn’t happened for a variety of reasons. A little thing called life has prevented me from getting into it.

Family and work obligations and chores around the house have all conspired against me and the blog. Responsibilities and major questions have been dogging me, nipping at my heels and forcing me to confront challenges that I had been putting off.

I hadn’t avoided them because of fear but because the smart way to do things is to see that you have laid the groundwork and prepared for whatever you are taking on. Yet I hate having things hang over me. I feel the weight of these decisions dragging me down. It is like a thousand hands pulling on whatever part of my body they can grab, yanking and tugging on me.

So I try to shrug them off. At first it is kind of a gentle shrug, but as I grow more agitated the shrugging grows more forceful. The vein on my forehead juts out, a sign to those who know me that now is the not the time to fight with me.

Don’t Give Up– Willie Nelson & Sinead O’Connor

I love that song for a lot of reasons, the lyrics speak to me. The opening fits with my mood and my thoughts nicely:

“In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail”

The fighter inside never quits. It doesn’t matter how many shots to the head or body blows he takes, he keeps moving, keeps fighting. Tenacity and determination and a fire that never stops burning keep pushing me.

But the reality is that there are moments of doubt and times when I question it all. The failure that the younger version of me feared has come, more than once now. The difference now is how I view failure. I no longer obsess about what it means.

That’s one of the advantages of age and life experience. I can look at the few times where things just didn’t work out and view them as battles and not as the summation of an entire war. Now I try to use those moments as lessons, a road map that can be used to avoid similar pitfalls.

If I said that I didn’t care about failing it would be a lie. No one really likes it and I am no exception. It is a bitter taste that I’d sooner forget. But survival is a reminder that challenges can be overcome and that is a lesson that has value.

“No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
Ive changed my face, Ive changed my name
But no one wants you when you lose”

Stepping back into the muck I have no problem admitting that there have been moments where it seems that last quote is an apt description that hits closer to home than I’d like.

(Author’s note: I probably should move that last quote and accompanying line to a different section so that post would flow better. But moving it feels wrong, because sometimes the pieces don’t fit neatly.)

There once was a woman in my life who would debate and discuss the biggest and most minute details of my life. And were she in the room with me she would shake her head, wag her finger and then roll her eyes at this description. It wouldn’t surprise me if we’d get into a long talk about which one of us is/was crazier and whose philosophy of life makes more sense.

But that is what happens when you deal with the short and illogical half of the species, the ones that by virtue of gender are reality challenged. For those keeping score I have taken more than one and less than ten swipes at her, but they are all done with love and a smile on my face. Not to mention an iTunes soundtrack in the background.

Anyhoo, the paragraphs above do relate to the post because the theme here is about dreams of the past, dreams of the present and dreams of the future.

Dreams of the past refers to lost loves. Not every lost love is about a relationship between a boy and a girl. Some of them tie into hobbies or activities that we used to engage in on a regular basis. For example, I used to spend about two hours a day in the gym. I loved it and wish that life would give me the opportunity to do it again.

In respect to this post I sometimes find myself thinking about Jerusalem, memories of a time and a place that has never left me. Memories that extend from being a teenager into my married life. Faces, places and names float through the sky and a feeling that I can’t possibly describe as anything but love comes over me.

I can give you a list of reasons why. I can tell you about the advantages that speaking multiple languages present, how a person can describe events and experiences differently in each language. I can talk about the sadness/frustration about losing your ability to effectively communicate in a different tongue.

Or I can talk about how I was certain that I was going to make aliyah and discussions I had about what it would be like in the army. But while some of these discussions make good blog fodder and could be interesting, I am not interested in going over that now.

That dream has passed and I won’t ever know what it would have meant to my life. A twenty something American has different dreams and different possibilities than a kid who just turned forty.

But the thing is that though some dreams may pass it doesn’t mean that we have to lay down and die or that it should kill other dreams. It doesn’t mean that one day I won’t find myself living in Israel or that I won’t find myself living out other dreams.

I can’t say what will happen in ten years or in five. It is hard to predict what will happen in two. So for now I am focused on my plan and doing all that is within my power to make it happen. In the interim there are a lot of chances to visit those dreams, to touch upon them and get a reminder of the reasons we chase them.

Part of what drives and enables me to get out of the bed is the knowledge that I can still live my dreams. I don’t have to give up on everything. I don’t have to accept a life that is less than what I dream it can be.

I don’t and I won’t.

Jerusalem is calling and so are my other dreams. All I need to do is figure out how to make them into something more than a gleam in my eye.