41 in 2023

I turned 41 on Tuesday. At one time I was dumb enough to think age is just a number. That belief has been thoroughly dispelled. I’ve spent the past 6 weeks or so getting over an arm injury. I was biking at my local trails, and at one stretch, the rider has to gain a lot of speed and momentum to make it up a short, yet steep, incline. I can get up it, but not with any consistency. Anyhow, on the day of my injury, I tried to do just that, but my bike ran out of momentum before I did, causing me to catapult myself over the handlebars. As I was ejected, I didn’t let go of my left grip, causing me to hyper extend my left arm. I also busted my bottle cage in the process.

I felt mostly all right as I gathered myself, but I knew I was done for the day. By the next day (Sunday), seeing a doctor was the intuitive choice. She gave me an x-ray, which revealed the injury plus some bone chips she didn’t like, so she recommended I get a CT scan. When those results came in, she wanted me to see a specialist at a local orthopedic clinic, but the fellow never called me back. She cautioned me I may never be able to fully straighten my left arm again. I’ve been diligent in my self-concocted rehab (one armed preacher curls, tricep extensions, and hex bar deadlifts), and I’m at least 99% back to normal. I even did my shadow boxing workout last night for the first time since the injury. I’m hoping practicing those lead jabs will work as a dynamic stretching exercise and return me to 100%. I think even practicing in my manual trainer helps stretch those ligaments out. I hope I’ll be back on my bike soon.

No updates on the romantic front. I’ve DM’ed with some women on a dating app, though nothing materialized. I think I’m genuinely okay being single for the rest of my life. If there’s an upside to slowly dying on the inside as I age, it’s that having unmet desires no longer bothers me as much as it once did. That description was perhaps excessively harsh. There’s probably a sunnier way to put it. Pessimism aside, I think that’s the trade off of age. When you’re young, you have strength, energy, and dissatisfaction. Those three attributes are all interconnected. You need that dissatisfaction to channel that energy into something productive. You need goals to chase, ambitions to pursue. I suspect that’s why ennui is so agonizing to a young person. The younger the person, the more tortuous it is. I remember being in my twenties, stuck living with my dad with my career non-existent; it was like a waterslide through the seven rings of Hell.

As an established adult, that drive is gone, but I’m more comfortable. One lesson learned from the goals I have met is that they didn’t provide permanent satisfaction. I suppose it’s good that the don’t. If anyone ever did find such contentment, he or she would probably stop striving for things. I’ve bought a house and paid it off. Having a home is so much nicer than living with my dad, but I find myself wishing for a little bit “more.” Perhaps I could find another house with a better use of space (like a finished basement) or a smaller (or easier) yard to mow. Ignoring the housing deficit, even if I did find such a place, I’d eventually acclimate to my circumstances. I suppose even if fell in love and got married, I’d become used to that two. Passion gives way to comfort. The challenge becomes working back towards passion so that comfort doesn’t become complacency.

That said, there may be a romantic option in my life. A few years ago, right before the start of the pandemic, a former student reached out to me. Evelin was among my first students when I started teaching. I think she had a little bit of a crush on me, and after she graduated, she reached out to me on social media, and we got together for quick meal. She was only 10 years younger than me (28 to my 38 at the time), so there was nothing inappropriate about it. However, as only I can do, I cured her of her infatuation with me, a natural occurrence of my socially clumsy, awkward self. I tried to follow up with a text to see if she wanted to get together, and was politely ghosted. Oh, well, no big deal.

Flash forward a few years, and Evelin has started attending my church, joined my small group, and re-enrolled in my school to finish her associate’s degree. She’s even in my Managerial Accounting class this semester. She’s certainly polite and friendly, and it’s not awkward at all, at least not for me. I don’t pick up such a vibe from her, either. I wonder if her perspective has shifted, like she should have looked past my awkwardness in for my more favorable aspects.

If her position has changed, it’s not hard to imagine why. Dating is hard. It’s tough to find someone you like, someone to whom you’re attracted. Add to that the requirement that he or she shares your values & goals and at least mostly has his/her act together. Dating is like a game of poker, and your whole life is contained in one deck. Each boyfriend or girlfriend is like a hand. Maybe you’re dating a 3 of a kind, or maybe you’re dating a straight flush. You can play the hand you’ve got (marry him or her), or you can fold thinking there’s a better hand waiting to be dealt. However, as you get older and you start running out of cards, you need to be realistic about whether you’ll get that straight flush. The best hand left for you may just be a pair. If you’re waiting for something that’ll never arrive, you’ll end up with nothing. I’m far from a royal flush, but I’m at least a full house, or maybe even 4 of a kind.