3 "Notices" From Turning 43
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Last week I turned 43 years old.
In a text message to a friend, I called 43 a “perfectly vanilla” age. There is no special advantage to 43 - no milestone save for having survived another trip around the sun. Granted, in a pandemic world perhaps the stakes are a bit higher.
I wear my mask, wash my hands, and stay away from crowds so that you and I might have another trip around the sun. That’s just loving my neighbor as myself, in my opinion.
Celebrating a birthday under the umbrella of COVID-19 is a unique thing. Typically we’d make plans to head to Chicago for a unique meal (Ramen, most likely) but with restrictions and shut downs that wasn’t an option.
However I am blessed to live with two beautiful souls - my wife Holley and my daughter - who shaped a blessing of a weekend for me. From Avengers decorations to a homemade cake, from a new bottle of bourbon to a pair of AirPods, they gave of their love to the fullest extent.
And I am grateful.
And also, identifying as an Enneagram 4, I stumbled into some introspective spaces on my birthday.
To say this year has been rough is an understatement, and I don't pretend to have cornered the market on struggle and challenge. But part of growth is realizing that just because someone else may be suffering more than you, that does not deny or denigrate the struggle you face.
In fact, to love our neighbors well we must embrace our sufferings as they are before we’re of any use to them. The forgotten clause in Jesus’ great commandment is “love your neighbor as you love yourself.” (Matt. 22:39-40)
Too often we engage in sanctified satanic self-talk and then try to maneuver our self-pulverization into love for others.
No wonder we jack up love so fiercely.
But as I look at my response to this year I notice a few specific things. There are places that, prior to 2020, were small and imperceptible fissures but via pressure and time have now become full-blown rifts.
As year 43 of my life’s project begins in earnest, I also realize that my response to these growing chasms has to be different.
I notice that creativity isn’t flowing like it used to.
Prior to January 2020, I had plans to write a third book. I still have those plans, but somewhere around Lent 2020 I lost the scent. The idea fell away, drifting into the ether and beyond my reach.
Throughout this year I’ve attempted to sit down, pound something out, but only this week have I felt the wires begin to crackle with life again. Writing sessions where I would have churned out 1500-2000 words now become exercises in futility where I write 200 words and delete them because they’re garbage.
Perhaps you notice the same thing? The energy you once brought to parenting, painting, or financial planning is draining from you at an absurd pace. Perhaps the exercises and practices that once gave you life and energy now feel like burdens. Obligations.
For many of us, the lack of certainty of a world in the midst of chaos is enough to say “What’s the point?” and let another episode run on Netflix. What are we watching? It doesn’t matter. The distraction is worth it.
Here’s how I’ve decided to respond: I can’t force creativity.
The Spirit of God that hovered over the waters at creation (Gen. 1) wasn't in a hurry and didn’t hastily slap together the biosphere in which we currently live, so why should I?
I’m reading again. I’m patiently waiting again. I’d invite you to do the same.
I notice that faith is beginning to mean something different to me.
After conversations on my podcast with people like Brenda Salter McNeil, Kristin Kobes DuMez, and Robert Chao Romero, I’m noticing that “faith” has taken on a different tone for me.
After visiting Ireland last year and reading Thomas Cahill’s lovely book How the Irish Saved Civilization, I’m listening to the echoes of Celtic Christianity in a different way than before. How did a gang of people come together in a way that both would tantalize today’s proponents of the Green New Deal and also scandalize theologians who believe original sin is necessary to explain Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection?
I look back at my pictures of St. Kevin’s “Kitchen” - a church in Glendalough that stands now after being built somewhere around 1000 AD - and I realize that the story of faith is far bigger than just the Western theological lenses that I’ve been handed.
Perhaps you too have had some experiences this year that have shaped your view of God, self, and others differently?
A podcast challenged you to think differently about that text, that doctrine, or more importantly that fear that underpins your beliefs.
Perhaps you hit a moment of crisis and God’s Spirit met you, but not as you expected. Now you can’t go back to the time before this, but the future is uncertain with this God whom you don’t quite recognize.
Some of us have finally seen the “man behind the curtain” when it comes to the way our faith and American Christian Nationalism are wrapped in unholy intercourse. As a result, the Jesus of “God, guns, and guys” is one we don't want to abide with (John 15:5) any longer.
But where do we go from here?
Here’s my response: Of course. Faith is an ever evolving, ever expanding thing. God is not scared of our growth, so why are we?
I notice that the list of things I “care” about is shrinking even further.
When Holley and I turned 40, we noticed that the urgency we felt about certain issues and ideas dissipated. Perhaps we were too tired, too wrapped up in raising a child and doing our work, but I think it was something more.
The spiritual stage into which we entered around 40 carried a different invitation for us. For us to receive the invitation of Jesus into that new stage, we had to embrace the pain of culling our list of priorities.
I thought that work ended at 40. However, it continues.
The debates and fierce discussions that animated years gone by have receded into the dark beyond. Not only do we not “care” about those particular issues any more - they have become completely uninteresting.
Perhaps you’ve done the same this year. The fights you used to have with your family are suddenly nonsensical and completely uninteresting.
The way you’ve been passed over at work time and time again suddenly becomes a moment where you say, “Of course” and move forward knowing that your promotion is not your identity.
I am coming to an awareness professionally that I am no longer the young guy in the room with all the potential. The truth is that I carry a some wisdom but my age and experience actually put me in a place where my best gift is to make sure all the “young folks with potential” get their shot.
I operate now not as an assertive force in my professional world, but as someone who waits for the appropriate moment to offer their skills and abilities. Sometimes people take me up on that, sometimes they don’t. Either way, it isn’t about my identity. Moving on.
My response to the things that are sliding off of my “care about” list is simply this: “Of course.”
“Of course” isn’t bitter resignation, however. It is the mantra that allows me to release any bitterness or antagonism that comes with the everyday warp and woof of life.
I imagine that some of these “noticing” moments are isolated.
Perhaps you don't connect with these notes, or perhaps you have your own “notices” from this last year. Wonderful.
My invitation to you is to wrestle them down to the ground and interrogate them for all the information they might yield. Speak gently if needs be, pray fervently for the patience and wisdom to listen to hard things, and know that this year around the sun will change you more than you imagine.
Well, how about that? Perhaps 43 isn't as vanilla as I thought.
(Photo by Christina Hernández on Unsplash)