When Did I Get So Old?

When I was in my twenties and thirties I had two mentors. One was a generation older than me, the other was two generations older. A third, fifteen years my senior, is still living. With all three, I thought of myself as someone who might eventually achieve what these three had achieved, and maybe more. Life was nothing but possibility. (White male entitlement goes a long way.)

One of the harder things of this age is realizing when people who are smarter, better educated, and more accomplished than you are also younger than you.  I was at an event with Brian McLaren last weekend. He is prolific, brilliant, and humble. We have been on the platform together a number of times over the past few months, and one time this summer, when we were on a panel together and he couldn’t retrieve a word, I said to the audience, “I just want you to know I’m having no trouble retrieving words, and I’m five years older than Brian.” Yep, I’m five years older than Brian.

This morning I was listening to an amazing conversation between Iain McGilchrist, the British psychiatrist, philosopher, and neuroscientist, and John Vervaeke, director of the Cognitive Science program at the University of Toronto. McGilchrist is now retired, and two years younger than me. And Vervaeke, yep, younger than me. The moderator was Daniel Schmachtenberger, clearly very smart and probably younger than my children. (Am I the only one whose Wikipedia page lists my age?)

My three favorite preachers are between 47 and 55. All three could be my children. Actually, one is my child.

When did I get so old? I was talking to an American Airlines pilot today who flies 777s internationally. She has six more years to fly before she has to retire, which means I am fourteen years older than she is. If I had been an airline pilot, I would have had to retire eight years ago. I was telling her that the first commercial plane I ever flew on was a BAC1-11, followed by a YS-11 and a Convair 440. She said, “Wow,” as if to say, “I didn’t know anybody was still alive who flew on those planes.” She was five when the last Convair 440 was built. Microsoft Word doesn’t even think Convair is a word. Go ahead, type it and see.

I get calls, not texts or emails, but calls from people at my Medicare provider asking if I would like to have a nurse come to the house and do a wellness check, free of charge. They call because apparently I’m so old I cannot figure out how to use email or texts. I told the one who called last week that I had just finished an 8 mile run on a trail with 1,600 feet of elevation gain, so no, I did not need anyone to come to the house to take my blood pressure.

I meet other 73 year-olds. They look ancient. I’m not sure how you can even look that old at this age. Have these people never heard of sunscreen? Some of them look like the only place they have eaten in 25 years is Golden Corral. I’m thinking they probably do need a nurse to come because they can’t climb more than three steps at a time. Is that what other 73-year-olds think when they look at me?

It’s the really smart people whose books I read and videos I watch that bother me the most. Most of them were not alive when Truman was president. Come to think of it, most were not alive when Eisenhower was president, or Nixon. People are turning fifty this fall who were born after Nixon resigned. Geez, I’m old.

And yet these “young people” have amassed all of this information I need to know. When did they learn all this stuff? While I was vacationing at Disney World? Or when I was running around the world? (If I’ve done the calculations correctly, I’ve run around 35,000 miles in my life.)

When did I slack off? I know I did not get the best education available to man. Chalk that up to being born into a strong Evangelical family. But I have read voraciously for decades. I had mentors who had not one, but two doctorates. Yet here I am, the old person telling the audience that Brian McLaren is five years younger than me.

I thought I was doing pretty good that I have had nine books published, two as Paula, seven as Paul (plus two more if ebooks count. Do they count?)  Brian has published almost 50. What was I doing all that time he was researching and writing? Probably running at Disney World.

My doctors are all younger than I am, and I probably would not trust any of them if they were older than me. When I got my doctorate I thought, “Nobody minds if their therapist is old, as long as they don’t fall asleep during your session.” So far no one has cared about my age, nor have I fallen asleep during a session. So, at least there’s that.

I stopped telling people how old I was at corporate speaking gigs. I figured if they knew, they’d say, “Why are we paying that old person so much?”

I still have time. I could write that Pulitzer Prize winning book, or do another TED Talk that has millions of views. I’ll think about that later, I need to go running now. Yesterday I ran my last mile of a three mile run at a 9:36 pace. There was a day I ran the last mile of a three mile run at a 5:56 pace. Sigh.

And so it goes.