I’m not getting any younger. None of us are, I guess. I’ve never really minded getting older, since I’ve always been very firm in my belief that with age comes wisdom. Although, if that’s true, I guess I’m not old at all. Hur hur.
Anyway. I think we all have moments when we become really aware of the passing of time, right? Our own mortality, if you will. And I had one of those moments recently, courtesy of my son.
Let me set the scene. I was in our kitchen, preparing dinner for the family. Minding my own business. Putting food on the table (in the literal sense). Not bothering anybody.
Up comes my 11 year old son. “Dad,” he says.
“Yes, my dear son,” I say. (Well, I don’t actually talk like that. But then, we don’t speak English around the house, either, so whatever.)
“Dad, do this,” he says and dabs. I’m sure you’re familiar with the dab, but if not, it’s what the kids do. It looks like this:
I look at him and I say: “Why should I do that?”
And he says: “Because I find it so funny when old people dab.”
Ouch! Way to make your old man feel ancient, boy.
Well, once I was able to get off the floor after my fit of hysterical laughter at my evil genius of a son, I was of course left feeling old and decrepit. But that’s just fine, I thought to myself. I enjoy getting older.
See, I’m somewhat of a creature of comfort. I don’t go out partying very much. I much prefer sitting in my favorite chair enjoying a nice, smoky scotch, reading a good book and listening to music. And I have no problem doing that instead of going out. A few years ago, I could very easily be pressured into going out and staying out all night. Now I feel very comfortable saying: “Nah, I’m too old for that stuff. My son even says so.”
It used to be that location was the number one factor I looked at when I was checking out apartments. I wanted to be downtown, where the action is. Not any more! Now I dream of a house in a quiet place, with a fireplace and nice, big bathtub, or preferably a hot tub outside. That’s my idea of heaven.
And of course, a nice record player and my vinyl record collection.
Now, that’s not to say I always feel this way. Sometimes I want to go out and have fun, I want to run or lift weights, and generally feel alive. Just like I often want to listen to music digitally and read books on Kindle.
But as I get older I’ve started to value experiences more than I used to, I think. It’s not the going out that’s fun. It’s the experience of hanging out with the people I love. (And come to that, the people I love the most happen to live in the same house as I).
Reading a book on Kindle has the same end result as reading it in a nice hardcover, but the experience is different.
And yes, I could listen to my favorite albums on Spotify. But the experience of putting on a vinyl record and actually listening is just so much better. It puts you in a certain frame of mind that you can’t really get any other way.
It’s about experience. Like music, I guess. And maybe that’s an age thing too. I’ve realized, as I slip comfortably into middle age, that I will not take anything with me when I go. Objects don’t matter. But experience does. And I suppose objects like books and records do enhance certain experiences. So… We can buy happiness? I don’t know…
So besides doing music full time, I guess my big goal in life is to sit by a fireplace, sipping on Lagavulin 16 year old and listening to Nick Cave on vinyl.
How about you? Do you agree with what I’m talking about? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Oh, and speaking of vinyl, my album is finally out on vinyl! So you can get your very own copy right now!