PAST MY PRIME

They say it about pro athletes all the time; He (or she) is past his (or her) prime (Am I being PC enough?). This holds true for us common folk as well. You don’t have to be Willie Mays as a NY Met or Madonna since the 80’s for the past your prime alarm to sound. There comes a time in all our lives when we come face-to-face with the cold and sobering fact that our best days are behind us

This doesn’t happen like it does in the movies. There’s no halo lighting effect or a soundtrack of thunder, lightning and Who songs when these moments occur. It’s sneakier than that. It’s more dripping faucet than tsunami, more sacrifice fly than walk off home run. Plus, it can happen anywhere, at any time. The office, the barber shop, the pub, a family gathering… there is no time or place off limits to this life lesson. I’m not talking about plucking your grey eyebrows or sucking in your gut in front of the bathroom mirror, either. That’s the easy stuff… that’s a getting older 101 class at the local community college. The moments I’m talking about are way more insidious… and they don’t hesitate to hit below the belt (sometimes even literally).

I found myself in a music meeting the other day. It was right up my alley. Who knows more about quality music than me (plus my ten best friends from high school)? I’ll dazzle these gen-x and gen-yers with my love for and knowledge of all things music. I’ll slay them with the credibility that my combined CD and vinyl collection of over 3000 titles has given me. No way I wouldn’t make a solid contribution to this meeting, right? Uh, way. Who TF is Lupe Fiasco? What TF is a Toro Y Moi? When TF did they decide that EDM qualifies as music? I couldn’t have been more out of place at this meeting if I spoke another language… in a sense, that was exactly the case.

The following morning, I stepped onto the court for my Saturday morning pickup game. This is my game. I run this game. I divvy up the teams… I settle the arguments. When a trio of suburban hood rats showed up on this morning, I was ready to take them to school. “I’ll take this guy,” I announced, while pointing at a guy half my age with too many tattoos and a dumb smirk on his face. Bad decision. He was bigger, stronger, faster and everything else than me. It was a debacle… it was as if I wasn’t even on the court… If I’d had a tail, it would have been securely positioned between my legs.

Perhaps to alleviate my depression from this beating, I visited my local dispensary that same afternoon. The last time I was here, the sales girl’s name was Amanda and she was not only helpful, but charming, sexy and flirtatious. While I always know better than to think a surfer girl half my age might find me worth her while, she was giving me enough reason to temporarily forget. The result? Another past my prime reminder;

“Hi Amanda… Great to see you again.”

Blank stare. Awkward silence. Disdainful voice. Sneer.

“Really? Have we met?”

Maybe it’s better this way… maybe a slow but steady stream of reminders is easier to manage than a single, overwhelming occurrence. Given the choice between death from a thousand paper cuts or being hit by a bus, which would you choose?

For this life, I’ll take the paper cuts. It’s too late to change my mind now, anyway. But next time? Sign me up for the one fell swoop.

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