Older, and a little wiser

Page 5

I am now 40 years old-14,600 days, 350,400 hours, and counting.

This earth on which I sit here writing has traveled completely around the sun, a humongous distance when you think of it, 40 times for me. And now it's on its way to 41. That's to the other side of the sun and back, an unfathomable distance in jogging terms. And in that time, disco, punk and grunge have all come and gone. Bell bottoms, leisure suits, and pastel T-shirts are all now memories of the past. The Beachcombers, Mr. Dress-up and The Tommy Hunter Show have all burned bright as the pinnacle of Canadian artistic expression, and then been cancelled.

As I enter my fifth decade, thoughts of mortality and life's true meaning have recently been bouncing around in my head. Ponderings and questions about why we do things and why things happen to us, and generally, what the hell do I do now, frequently engage my consciousness. But perhaps I should preface this by mentioning that I actually don't have a hang up about getting old, but as any therapist/counsellor will tell you, a little soul searching is good for what ails you. And turning 40 is as good a reason as any to plumb your personal depths.

Curious, I once checked the archives at a university library to see what was happening on the day of my birth way back in the summer of 1962. The front page of the Toronto Star mentions a huge Shriners convention and a parade. Wonderful, I was born in the year of the Shriner. Maybe that's why I drink so much.

Granted, many people tell me that at the age of 280 (in dog years), I'm still a baby, a pup, practically a kid. The problem here being most of the people telling me this are older than me and I'm not sure if they're trying to reassure me or themselves.

This all came to a head several weeks ago when I visited the place where I grew up. I took a nostalgic walk through this little community nestled in the heart of central Ontario. I found myself walking by my grandparents' old house, next to it was an apple tree I practically lived in as a child. It had the best apples in the village. I looked at it like an old friend, a dying old friend. Half the branches were already dead and the rest didn't look too long for this world.

On the other side of my grandparents' house was a stand of cedar trees. Because of the way cedar seeds are clumped together, it's not uncommon for a number of trees to grow together. This one stand of trees always reminded me of a hand lying on the ground. There were five or six trees/fingers growing skyward, with an open palm at the center. I spent long hours playing there in this naturally-made fort. They too are now dead. I'd always been told that trees live for hundreds of years.

"My God," I thought. "I'm out living the trees."

Still, those past four decades have taught me a few things, most of which I was happy to learn. Most particularly, what I learned about the ominous and foreboding world of dating.

Having recently been summarily and suddenly dismissed from my former fiance's life, I have once again been forced out into the breeding pools of society.

This time a little older and a little more wary. It's time to blow the dust off of my old lines. I may have to update "Guns and Roses, what a band huh?" But after almost 25 years of dating experience, I think I've finally gotten a handle on this whole finding a partner game we all play, with varying amounts of success.

It's been my experience that in our youth we are often captivated by a stunningly beautiful face or figure. Sometimes our souls are commandeered by a devilish sense of humor, or we are intrigued by an individual's insight and intelligence.

Back in those days, that was enough. And then, some time down the road, because we were so blinded by a single, particularly overwhelming feature, the brightness will begin to fade and we will see other things, or a lack of other things, in those we've pledged our love to. It's very rare that we can find several of thse intrinsic attributes all rolled up into one very special person. It's with those rare people you can spend the rest of your life.

Oddly enough, I equate this analysis of dating with track and field. For example, you have your long distance runners, your shot putters, your hop-skip-and-jumpers, all fantastic in their own world of expertise. But try to get a long distance runner to throw a javelin and you'll be disappointed. Pretty soon the novelty will wear off and you're stuck watching marathons for the rest of your life.

I, on the other hand, have decided in my declining years that when next I start dating, I want somebody who can and will win the decathlon.

The principal behind the decathlon being somebody that may not be the best discus thrower, or sprinter, but they are more then good enough at each different sport to score enough points to be judged best overall athlete. In reality, it's much harder to be a decent decathloner than to excel at any one sport. It takes determination, tremendous talent and the ability to multi-focus. Why should I settle for less in the dating world?

I'd also be content for a decent Ironman (actually Ironwoman) competitor too-running, biking, and swimming-because a successful relationship is definitely a marathon. It also involves keeping your balance and making sure the mechanisms of the relationship are well oiled. And finally, it's important to be able to keep your head above water to see where you're going, because if you keep your head down and under water, you'll get lost.

It took me forty years to learn this. Next on my list is working the VCR.