The older I get, the more I think about what life will look like after I hit retirement age. I guess that number is supposed to be 65, though it feels pretty arbitrary. Right now, I don’t plan on suddenly changing the way I live just because I’ve crossed that line. Still, when I look at people who’ve already retired, I can’t help but feel a bit concerned.
Have you ever really stopped to observe the life of the average old man? It’s oftentimes not the prettiest of pictures. So many spend their days parked on couches or wandering aimlessly through their residential garages that once hummed with purpose. These garages, once temples of productivity, have become quiet museums of half-finished projects and tools that don’t see much use anymore. Little actually gets done, either because the energy isn’t there, or because someone else is hired to do the work. What remains are the memories, and with those memories, dramatic pauses of reflection on brighter days gone by. It can be a bit depressing, if you think about it.
And then there’s the other ritual: errands with the wife. You’ll spot them riding as passengers in their very sensible, Subaru-like vehicles, dutifully chauffeured to Costco, pharmacies, and grocery stores. They push oversized carts loaded with gigantic packs of toilet paper and the occasional box of vitamin supplements. Every once in a while, there’s that small personal triumph, placing the twelve-pound salmon fillet into the cart, simply because it was “too good of a deal to pass up.” I’ve lived a lot of places, and I swear, this scene plays out the same everywhere I go.
When Laura and I lived in Palm Coast, I once noticed a couple who seemed like they had only just relocated to the area, weeks, maybe months before. I couldn’t tell you how I knew; it was just a feeling. I watched them move slowly through the aisles of Publix, holding hands in silence, their eyes drifting halfheartedly over the groceries they might buy for the coming week. For some reason, their presence stuck with me. I remember thinking, “Please, shoot me if I ever end up like that.” Their apathy was unsettling. There was no spark, no energy. If love had ever existed between them, it had long since evaporated.
I imagined their backstory: maybe they had lived in some suburb of Hartford, New York City, or even Trenton. I pictured them telling friends, “There’s no snow in Florida! Our home is being built right now, and we move in on January 3. We’re so excited. We plan on getting involved with the community.” And then, reality: they moved in, got bored within weeks, never involved themselves with anything, and began quietly wondering why divorce seemed like the only option.
I’m not sure why I fixated on this couple, especially when the fault could just as easily have been with either of them individually. Maybe they were simply a malfunctioning dyad, doomed from the start. Still, I couldn’t shake the sense that the man had dropped the ball somewhere along the way; that he had given up, and his wife had merely followed his lead.
A dull existence can’t be pinned entirely on location, to be sure. I see old men here in Maine all the time who clearly have nothing to do. But honestly, I’m not sure they ever did. Maybe the guys I watch, driving around aimlessly, puttering about their yards with wheelbarrow in hand, or hacking ice from their rooflines with a medieval-looking shovel, were never all that productive in the first place. Some people peak early, and their peak was probably “stacking firewood while avoiding back injuries.”
Really, it all comes down to purpose, or more specifically, the absence of it. And that’s where the uncomfortable question sneaks in: what’s a man supposed to do as he meanders toward old age? Because let’s face it, without something to keep us occupied, we’re all one grocery run away from becoming the guy who talks to strangers about weather patterns in the canned soup aisle.
Productivity, Intellect, & Purpose
First and foremost, every single man who’s worth his salt will steer clear of the television. He will not, in any way, shape, or form, watch the 6 o’clock news. He won’t watch the weather forecast and he’ll know little of politics. He’ll avoid the internet, his phone, and any app that may be calling his name. YouTube is not a friend. Facebook, Instagram, and their ilk were purposefully and specifically created to turn once fully-functioning minds into mash potatoes. The human psyche was never meant to absorb advertising at the rate social media produces it and please don’t get me going on memes, the most moronic idea and word humankind has created as of yet.
What I just mentioned above are not friendly things. They’re utter thieves of the one most valuable commodity available to every living soul on earth – time.
As a side note, let me ask you a question: have you heard anyone lately sigh, “Where has all the time gone? It seems like it’s moving so fast these days.” Of course you have. I certainly have. The answer is simple: the internet. The internet steals time like it’s a pickpocket with tenure. And phones? They just hold the bag open.
Notice who never asks this question: people in the middle of hiking the Appalachian Trail, or doing something equally absorbing and real. They don’t need to ask; they know exactly where their time went. It went into blisters, sweat, and probably one too many granola bars. Meanwhile, the rest of us sit slack-jawed, scrolling through videos of other people’s cats and vacations, wondering why the years have slipped away.
I think about this topic far too often. I don’t want to become a perpetual couch sitter and a man who has little purpose. The truth of the matter is though, as people age, their relevance fades. If I became a multi-ranked Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu coral belt in 10 years, I highly doubt many students would take me seriously enough to listen to my advice, no matter how often I displayed the belt. Maybe the white belts would be impressed during the beginning of their training by my achievement, but the moment they rolled with me and learned how deteriorated I truly was, they’d surely stop listening. I’d be like the man standing on the road in front of his neighbor’s home during a tree removal. I’d fail to resist the temptation of telling the professionals, “You know, I used to do this same job when I was younger…” As if they care. And as if any of the 20-somethings would actually believe I had been privy to the modern equipment they’d surely be taking advantage of. Back when I actually did do tree work, my fellow workers and I were once forced to listen to an old timer tell us about how his worn out hand saw is, “Faster than any chain saw you fellas use today!” Sure, old man. Sure it is.
I’ve come to conclude a worthy old age experience will revolve around using my mind. So instead of being a bored old man who wanders around looking for something…anything, to do, I’ll be one who uses my brain and who accomplishes things. Pretend you’re sitting next to your grandfather. Pretend you ask him what he’s been up to and pretend he answers the way you’d expect. “Oh, nothing much. Your grandmother has me trimming the hedges. I also helped dry the dishes this morning.” Really? That’s it? These kinds of answers makes me want to slap someone.
Now pretend he responds with something like, “What have I been up to? What haven’t I been up to? Your grandmother and I just returned from a trip to the Cotswolds where we hiked and photographed for two weeks using my old-school 1976 Canon AE-1 35mm camera. Come check out my new darkroom where I process my film. Oh yeah, I’ve also been writing for a magazine and I recently purchased a beautiful new tweed suit. It’s real Harris tweed!”
The latter is the type of man I’d like to be. A man who sits outside Café Kitsuné in Paris, sipping expresso. I’d like to be a man who photographs and blogs and writes for people who enjoy reading what I have to share. I’d also like to read and buy what I perceive to be scarce used books as if all authors had ceased their authoring and no new books were being published. I’d like to remain productive. I’d like to buy ingredients for dishes I’d prepare for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’d like to find a pub near where we’d live and drink Guinness like it’s the medicine it is. I’d like to walk and talk and sit to discuss the finer things in life. I’d like to build things and analyze design with those who know much more than I do. I’d like to study history and visit places and learn about society and culture. And one day, I’d like to surprise Laura with a gîte. She’s an entrepreneur and she’d love the income.
I’d also like a motorcycle, but we’ll discuss that another time.
What I really don’t want to do is end up being boring and dull. An unproductive and unintellectual old man who has no purpose. Why? Because there are already too many of that type and I really don’t think the world needs another.
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