How to Age Like a Man

Here in the high desert where I live, the average man has certain characteristics. He has a strong handshake. You can tell immediately that he either works on his land, turns wrenches, does manual labor, or spends time doing some sort of strenuous physical activity. As a rule, the desert is no country for old men, so if you're here and you're old, then chances are you're a badass. Case in point, Mr. Fred who lives on the plot behind ours. He's 81 years old, and has been out here with his wife Sandy for over a quarter century. I'll see him out there repairing his roof, cutting and stacking firewood, hula-hoeing the weeds in his dusty yard. We'll chat sometimes at the fence that separates our properties. When I shake his hand, it feels leathery like a catcher's mitt. He'll gripe about not being able to work as hard as he used to, but this old goat is putting in more work on any given day than the average teenager. He doesn't know how much I admire him. He's one of the guys I think about when I think about getting older. I'm in my mid-50s at the time of this writing and man, it seems like I was just in my mid-30s. You always hear people say this stuff, but it hits differently when it's you. I was recently going through pictures of my family, back when we were still living in New Orleans, and the stark contrast slapped me in the head like a brick. My son had just been born, the first and only year the Saints won the Super Bowl (2010). His mother and I looked so young, so innocent, and so thin. My beard was dark brown, as was her hair. My son was just an infant, whereas now he's in high school. I see the aging; I can't deny it. I have almost as much salt in my goatee as pepper, if not more. My crow's feet have that Clint Eastwood look. My eyes are sunken in. My neck skin is looking kind of buzzardy. My teeth don't pass the paper test, and it's clear that I've never had braces. As an artist, I've drawn self-portraits since I was three years old. I see what I see, and I'm honest about it. I've had a hard ass life, and my face is a map of the battlefields I've crossed, and dungeons I've survived. Scars from my ass-whoopings are right there in the open like a QR code, and the ass-whoopings I've handed out are somehow hard-coded into my eyes, voice, and mannerisms. I am what I am. I'm okay with getting older, but not with getting old. I think "old" is a mindset, and I don't care to accept it as my identity anytime soon. Instead, I lift heavy. I walk and ruck. I do push-ups, squats, and planks throughout the day. I eat good food. I drink mostly water and black coffee. I don't drink, nor do I do drugs. I ride my motorcycle for significant distances in all kinds of weather, I go off roading in my Jeep on black diamond trails, and in general challenge myself to either live my life like I stole it, or die trying. I also keep my brain sharp. I play chess daily. I play go daily as well (aka weiqi, baduk, etc.). I write, I solve tech problems, I push my brain to perform. But also, I meditate. I breathe. I ground myself to the earth while keeping my heart available for others, and my head in the stars. And of course I privately practice spirituality in my own way, and doing so constantly reinforces my faith in goodness and overrides my fears. I see what life is. I'm okay with it. Today is a good day to die. And that mindset is precisely what makes it a good day to live. We're on a journey. Aging is a part of the process. Accepting it with grace while still grinding to stay gritty is how I rock. No one owes you anything. Live your life. Write your story. Then die. That's it.