THIS IS 40
by Jeff Marshall
For some reason, reaching 40 always seemed like a big deal to me when I was growing up. I remember being an overly dramatic youngster, claiming how I would never make it to 18, and then to 21, and then to 30… By the time I reached 30 the drama settled down and I stopped trying to determine how long I’d make it on earth!
There’s something about 40 though – think about it!
Both Jesus and Mozart have been dead for 5 years – and look at all they’ve accomplished!
Meryl Streep has won two Oscars and six other nominations – and my only film was MURDER ON GILLIGAN’S ISLAND for German Club in high school!
John Glenn has orbited the earth – and all I’ve done is gone on one of those gravity-free rides at the carnival.
Hank Aaron has hit his 715th home run – and I can honestly say…I can’t think of anything I have done, ever will do, or could ever imagine doing 715 times.
I turned 40 last year. Forty is when I started looking back at my accomplishments, or lack thereof, and looking forward to what I still wanted to do before senility, arthritis, and wearing my pants up to my neck took over.
I’m not for certain, but I think I may have gone through a mid-life crisis, although I’ve been using this excuse for every mood swing since I was 25. For a period of time, I was hanging out with people way younger than me, playing video games, listening to music other than Mozart and Mancini. True, I didn’t buy a motorcycle or get a toupee or have every body part pierced. Maybe it was just belated rebellion.
I’ve noticed at 40 my biggest enemy has become GRAVITY. A great movie but everything else associated with this word stinks. The chins are drooping a bit more – turkey neck is ensuing. I can’t wave goodbye unless I’m wearing a shirt with sleeves. The bags under my eyes require check-in at the airport.
I also find that getting out of bed in the morning has become akin to an acrobatic feat worthy of Barnum and Bailey. I have to contort my body like a pretzel and gradually roll off of the mattress. Gone are the days when I would jump out of bed greeting the start of a new day with a smile and a Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah – it’s now more of a groan and a Yo-Ho-Heave-Ho.
Now I dread the thought of 50! Will I spend every day watching the Weather Channel? Will I become infatuated with which gas station has the cheapest prices throughout the tri-state area? Will I wear black socks and sandals? I guess I have a little while before I have to worry too much – 8 years, 9 months, 1 week, and 1 day to be exact – but who’s counting?!
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