The Old Man

As of the beginning of the month of March in this, our year of the lord 2009, I officially became an old man.

I am 30 years old, the triple deca. Something I've been trying to tell myself is no real kind of number to be afraid of. I've heard many a time from many a person that 30 is technically the start of your life, where you start to become a fully realized person. I'm not sure how much stock I put into that. All I know is, 30 hurts.

It’s taken more than a week for me to come to grips with this. Despite the reality that I felt no different on the day of my birth than I did 24 hours before when I was still technically 29, and despite the fact that I actually feel younger and stronger as a 30 year old man than I did when I was 25, it was still too much for my wee-little brain.

You see, I had tossed around this notion that 30 was supposed to be my downhill. The easy road, paved with wine and roses. I had figured, and probably foolishly so, that all of the difficult work that comes with living would have been accomplished in my 20’s, and by this time in my life I would be living in a lap of moderate luxury, secure in the knowledge that all the decisions I had made in my short existence had been fruitful.

Clearly that hasn’t been the case.

In the last couple years, I’ve been floating in the foggy purgatory of existence, bouncing between agonizingly stupid jobs that offer limited security, and painful infuriating ones that offer none. My tolerance for stupidity has dwindled, and yet I’m bombarded by twice as much of it. But despite the amount of living experience I've attained, or having that overpriced college degree collect cobwebs on my wall, the good life has yet to make itself known to me.

As for the music? Well, for a guy who only two years ago was bragging about the wealth of material sitting on his hard drive, I've begun to wonder if I'm lucky enough to have maybe one or two good albums left in me. I spent two hours recording some bass tracks the other day, which is more than I spent in the last three months combined. I went form envisioning myself as the defender of true music, to abandoning my post completely. It's been made abundantly clear to me that being able to survive off of my art is just not going to happen. Not in this lifetime anyway. I built up some very dedicated and loyals fans, which I am very very pleased with, but as a means of survival, music clearly isn't it.

And now here I am at age 30, trying desperately to figure out what I can do next.

I spend ridiculous amounts of hours in front of the laptop, reading learning, and ocassionally writing. I'm roughly five chapters into what is shaping up to be a strange and twisted book. And then there is the whole "school thing," Which has me pretty shaken up.

At an age that people normally consider "mature" and "over the hill," I'm going back to school. A place known for youthful optimism and energetic stamina. And not just any school mind you, not a business degree or a tacked on science minor. Oh no, that would've been too easy. Instead, I decide to enroll in culinary school. A discipline involving great amounts of stamina and fortitude. Things that this old guy isn't completely sure he has in great amounts. Hell, I'm at an age where most pro cooks are already turning into chefs and getting their own resteraunts, and here I am playing with the young folk, trying to convince the world that I'm still young enough to hack it in a big boy kitchen. It's got me very freaked out, and wondering if I'm just making yet another big mistake.

I've lost a lot of sleep lately. I'm just not sure what the end result is supposed to be, but I find myself running head first into many an interest, trying to get good at it and make up for all that lost time I spent writing and creating music. I worry constantly that I've lost tons of time and don't have much left to get good and successful at something. And all the while, I keep staring out the window and wondering when the good life is supposed to start.

I'm not trying to make this post into a bitch-fest, I promise. I fully acknowledge that life has been pretty decent to me, and that there are a lot of poor souls out there who have it a hell of a lot worse than I do. In a time where folks are losing their jobs and homes at a snowballing rate, me not becoming a rock star is pretty small potatoes. I think I can survive that little injustice.

And I'm learning some new trades, which is never a bad thing. It can only benefit me to go from the guy who could only talk about music, and music related topics, to a person who can actually sound moderately well-rounded. These are all very valuable things.

So, I admit, a lot of what I considered my 30th year to look like was pure delusion. And, there was no way any of it could have come to pass. But it’s hard when you believe in those things to such a degree, that when it doesn’t come to pass you feel withered and wasted. Lying awake at night, thinking over and over again, “Ye gods, what did I do wrong?” becomes almost second nature. It’s unhealthy, but unavoidable as well.

In the end, I suppose it's all about keeping the good things you got going for you in clear sight. My life didn't turn out to look like what I wanted when I hit 30, but all in all, it isn't bad either. I'm not rolling in success like a drunk pig, but I'm doing alright. And I got plenty to keep me a happy dreamer. And being a happy dreamer was one of those things I was hoping I'd be when I hit my third decade, so all is not lost. In fact, it very well may be the start of something good.

At least until the white hairs hit, then I fear someone may die.