Forty Again

I read an article this morning, posted on Facebook, with a woman in her early forties decrying all the things she now couldn't do: read fine print; wear sequins or mini skirts. I sympathize. Sequins have always made me feel out of focus. However, my forties decade was the most liberating of my life. Everything that had gone on before was just the preamble to turning forty.

When I was forty, I could do anything. I didn't just feel that I could do anything, I actually could do anything. I had built boats, houses, high-rises, scientific facilities for NASA. I could use lathes and milling machines. I could forge steel, cast bronze, drive graders, back hoes, bulldozers. I could jump into a fish boat and bring it  back to the dock in a current, crosswind and a sputtering engine. Put me in any situation and I was up to it.

The decades that had passed, since I left the family home, were a preparation for reaching my forties. My twenties were filled with learning the ropes, education, and gaining confidence and self-worth. My thirties were family, and work under someone's direction. I was shy to put my own opinions forward.

But when I turned forty...look out world! The shutters came off. I wasn't afraid to voice an opinion about anything and stick to it. I literally could do anything. Build a car, boat, train - yep. Build any kind of structure - no worries. When the apocalypse came, I could go back to basic technologies and take care of my family. When the airline pilot had a stroke, I could step in and land the plane. It's just simple hand-eye coordination, right? I wasn't afraid of anything or anyone.  When bosses would come poking around and asking silly questions, I always had an answer ready.

The decade of the fifties, for me, started to show limitations. The physical plant started to show arthritis, bad back, the reading glasses kept getting stronger. But that aside, now I had people in their forties (you know, who could do anything) working for me. They did the hard stuff and I did the head stuff. That still seemed to work.

The decade of my sixties, though not quite over, has been a time of more head and less hard. The work that I do physically can now be called puttering. What I used to do in a couple of hours now takes all day. I could, if asked, still drive a loader, grader, or even locomotive, but no one is asking anymore. If the airline pilot had a stroke now, I could still reset the computers to take us down but now I worry more about the stroke I might have squeezing into the airplane lav to pee. Fortunately, the head stuff is still working although I hear the word "crank" when I turn away. Or is it "crock"? Seems my hearing isn't what it used to be. Although, a few weeks ago I did bring in a boat, in waves and cross wind, to kiss the dock so no passengers felt a thing. Made me feel like forty again. Yowser.