Turning 40 - It’s All About the Journey

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Are You Turning 40 and Looking for a Profound Life Change?

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Today’s the day I stop worrying about turning 40. Because it’s done, and there’s nothing I can do about it, except remind myself to be grateful that I’ve gotten this far.

Over the past week, there has been terrible news. An acquaintance has been killed, a baseball player died, friends and family both received very concerning health news. Everything I need to put my life in perspective is here. I have been given great gifts. I just wish I felt better about how I was using them.

My misgivings about turning 40 have been considerable, but not rising from a general discomfort with growing old - though, I have to say, that number 40 seems as huge today as 30 once did (knowing full well that in 10 years time, both will seem impossibly young). It’s been this feeling that I’ve been moving backward as much as I’ve been moving forward.

That is really a stupid thought, given all that has happened in the past decade. Ten years ago, I was single and barely employed. Today, I am 7 1/2 years into marriage, with two children and - Breaking News - a third one on the way, a second little boy, coming right around the time the Dodgers will make their Coliseum appearance in March. (Talk about your Moon Shots!)

My career, after a pretty major detour, has also been on an upswing since last year - and that’s a relief. And Dodger Thoughts has been an unexpectedly rewarding pleasure.

But during the past 10 years, I abandoned the career that I really wanted, and to this day I regret the decision. A few somewhat out-of-touch acquaintances of mine this month have asked me if I were on strike (with the Writers Guild of America), and I found myself feeling sad to say that I wasn’t.

I wish I were screenwriting. In fact, I have an idea burning a hole in the pocket of my brain right now, but I have no time to work on it. Screenwriting, for me, is not like blogging. In the time that it takes me to get out what would qualify as a medium-to-long post on Dodger Thoughts, I’d just be getting warmed up to work on a script. That first hour of screenwriting was more like calisthenics than anything else. My life, these days, simply isn’t conducive to writing fiction.

But it’s not just the notion of a dream deferred or denied that has had me down. It’s that with the passing of that dream has come the passing of any chance of being worry-free when it comes to income. The fact is, short of actually being a working Hollywood writer, my job at Variety is about as happy a situation as I could have found. But it’s journalist pay. Nothing much there.

I can’t think of much that is more distasteful than complaining about money, and the fact is, I make more than plenty of people. So my point isn’t to cry poverty. It’s just to articulate this reality that my income isn’t keeping up with how much I’m spending on day-to-day life, even though I’m trying to keep those expenses to a minimum. This year, in fact, I will have made more money than I ever had before, and yet I’m still not earning what I need to. I’ve gone from fiscally responsible to irresponsible, with each passing year getting harder, regardless of what I should be earning or spending. That’s why I feel like I’m moving backward. I spend a great deal of time worrying. I find myself talking about it with other people even though it’s the last thing I want to talk about, because it’s so inexorably a part of what’s going on with me in my head. Money matters more to me than I could have ever dreamed possible 10 years ago - it’s poisoning my life. But moving to a cabin in Montana isn’t an option.

Ten years ago, I had sincere fears of hitting 40 lonely, not in financial decline. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I feel fortunate. I love this family of mine. But I’m just sharing with you that, in all honesty, when I see those bills, I have to remind myself to feel good about myself. It’s embarrassing, really.

Another place where I’m suffering is with my friends. In the past month, by coincidence, my best friend from college and my best friend from high school came into town for the first time since my wedding, and I had the chance to catch up with them for a couple hours apiece. Each time, with no effort, we fell into that incredible groove of conversation that best friends have. And then they were gone, eventually heading back to Michigan and Colorado. I still have my best best friend sleeping in the same bed with me, and my parents 10 minutes away (and don’t think I underestimate that). But aside from them, I just don’t really have anybody that tight. All my closest friends live elsewhere, and we’re horrible at keeping in touch. It’s just not right.

Perhaps most importantly - and this should be clear by the melancholy tone of this piece - I’m not entirely happy with the person I am, about how I can be angry and selfish and self-defeating. It’s not that I don’t have my good qualities, but I don’t really feel like I’m evolving. I’m meeting some of the greater challenges of my life, but I’m not keeping pace. As my world becomes centered around getting my work done, and making sure I give my kids what they need instead of screwing them up, and trying to juggle my pregnant wife’s prayer to get 15 more minutes of sleep in against my desire to have 15 minutes to myself, I feel more like I’m devolving, unless the fact that my life belongs more to others is the real evolution. I often tell people that now, the days take longer but the years fly by. It’s the strangest thing.

If I could give myself completely to my family, or take myself completely away, I’d be happy. But I find myself want to straddle the two, which are contradictory. Me Time vs. Them Time. Why can’t Them Time be Me Time 100 percent instead of less?

People can minimize it all they want, but these round-numbered birthdays are times that I take stock, and looking at myself, I see a complicated picture. I see things to celebrate, even to take pride in. But I don’t always take pride in myself. Just trying to survive each day and punch out a few good moments without screwing up doesn’t seem like much to crow about.

I’d like to say I love my life, but love implies accepting the good and the bad, let alone the simply irritating, and I struggle. My family can be a trial at times, but it gives me a kind of joy you simply can’t otherwise imagine, and I can honestly say that my favorite moment of any day are the moments that I walk my little girl to kindergarten, or hugging the kids good night. But I keep wanting perfection. I’m 40 years old and still a spoiled brat.

Anyway, when I went to bed Sunday, I turned out the light, looked at my clock glowing with its LCD display, prepared to tick off the last 45 minutes of my 30s, and said to myself, “Screw it. I’m just going to be a young 40.” It’s going to take some effort, but it’s pretty much the only way to go.