I turn 65 this year.

In general, I tend to register the number, enjoy the well wishes of friends, and move on with my life. I don’t really dwell on the passage of years or the memories. I don’t put on Sinatra’s “It was a Very Good Year” and tear up. I’m usually too busy planning the next trip, preparing for the next race or growing facial hair for the next role. I’m kind of a big fan of the here and now. I have told people, more than a few times, that I was born without a rear view mirror. I try to learn from my experiences, but I sincerely think that regret is one of the wasted emotions. But there is an aspect of aging that I want to share today. Share with folks my age who can perhaps identify with it, and people who have yet to reach these years as something to consider when interacting with those of us whose birthdates start with “197”, “196” or earlier.

It’s uncertainty.

It’s the uncertainty of wondering whether the ache or pain you wake up with is just that, or the start of something larger, more significant and life long. Is that memory lapse just that, a one off glitch in your mental “giddy up”, or is it the start of a long slow deterioration. The first time that concept occurred to me was when I was back in California, running at Hillcrest park in the beautiful city of Fullerton. It wasn’t actually on the stairs. I was running from the baseball fields to the base of the stairs when I tripped over a curb. Just not picking my feet up. But I went over, head over heels, hard. I basically did a somersault and landed on my back. And it was a Saturday so there were games being played, so people were around. If I had been 20 people would have laughed themselves silly. But I was 50-something so people were quietly concerned. “Are you alright?” “Can we get you something?” “Are you sure you’re OK?”.

No laughter. No “Nice one, buddy!”. Nothing like that. And that was the first time the concept of being the age that I am hit me. Of course, it hit me for about 2 minutes and then I went on my merry way. By the time I got to the top of the steps the thought was gone in a wave of exhaustion and endorphins. But it still existed, in the back of my mind. My father’s mother lived on her own after my Grandpa died. She stayed in her house, took care of things on her own, tended the garden and played golf. Until one day she took a fall and broke her hip. She went to the hospital to recuperate and never lived on her own again. It can happen that fast. And it’s not just a physical thing…

When I moved back to Ohio in 2022 I immediately got involved in performing here in town. Before I started getting hired for professional gigs I did a few local community theater shows. One was a straight play which I had never done before. It was a fairly large role with a good number of lines. And it hit me that the last half dozen years in L.A. I performed mostly in shows that I was familiar with, or unscripted revues. It had been a while since I had to start from zero and learn a significant role. And it absolutely spooked me. I don’t know if I got nervous because I had trouble with the lines or had trouble with the lines because I got nervous. But it was there, and it was real. I would run the lines over and over, get to rehearsals or performances and “go up” on lines. I’d either paraphrase or someone would cue me back in. It was frustrating, embarrassing and scary. And my emotions were definitely involved. I tried to keep that from the cast, and made it all the way to the closing performance. The night before I had messed up the names of not 1 but 2 other characters. Other cast members had joked about it, and actually texted me about my mistakes that night as well. It wasn’t funny to me. I was angry at myself and seriously wondering if I might have to think about life after performing, at least as far as major roles were concerned. I promised myself that “no matter what anyone says tomorrow, it’s closing day for the show. Don’t react to anything anyone says. Just get through the day.”

Yeah. That was my intention.

I arrived at the theater and was greeted by several “jokes”. I shut my mouth. We had one of those closing pre-show meetings, where everyone tells each other how great it’s been to work together, the production team gets gifts, that kind of thing. During one of the speeches, the production person turned to me and asked if I knew her name. When I didn’t answer, another cast member said “She asked if you know her name”.

That was it.

I told him to go have intercourse with himself, and suggest that he may have had intercourse with his own mother. At the closing show love-fest. With the whole cast and crew there.

Yeah.

The closing show, and set strike after, wasn’t quite as happy, shiny and friendly as you imagine those things to be….

…but I digress…

The happy ending to that story, at least for me, is that in my case memory seems to be similar to physical training. In the last 3 years, as I’ve done more and more new roles in new shows, some of which have been major roles with plenty of lines, my ability to internalize the text and spit it back out has improved. Or, maybe I’m just getting out of my own way now and believing in myself again. Sometimes I think it was like what they call the “yips”in golf. You worry about putting, so you don’t putt well, so you worry about putting. Just something you have to stubbornly work through. And I can do stubborn, thanks so much.

Does that mean that if I work at it I’ll be just as good now as I was then? Nope. My half marathon personal record (PR), or personal best if you’re in Europe (PB) is 1:35:00. in Long Beach in 2009. I’ll never get near that again. These days if I break 1:50 I’m kicking it. So I work to do the best I can do today. And that’s just a part of wellness as you age. Doing the best that you can today. Your body and your mind. So maybe you can identify. If you can, then know you are not alone. Or maybe, if you’re not a part of this demographic, maybe it will help you understand people who you interact with who are.

OK, that’s it. I gotta get back to studying lines for the new show.

See what I did there..

Talk Later,

Bob