One of the things that happens to men of a certain age is that we really notice that our minds are degenerating. It’s as if we left them on the kitchen counter one morning after turning forty, and slowly over the days and years, you see mold growing, and flies buzzing, and then in a horrible time-lapse progression, you get an explosion of maggots and eventually a puddle of goo.
It is hard not to feel this happening as I write, and not be a little saddened by it all. You see, when you hit forty, it’s like reaching the top of a hill. You’ve spent your entire life getting there, working to get to a point where work, serious man-work, is present all the time and you get terribly efficient and good at it. And then you look up and see the vista all around you, and you see that it’s just a one-way ride down the hill. You don’t even need to pedal.
People respond differently to this Kobayashi Maru moment. Some buy Porsches. Some run off, lose a lot a weight, and then buy a Porsche. Some navel gaze obsessively, offending many in the process. The best way to deal with this is complete suppression and utter denial, with hair replacement as necessary. Golfism helps a great deal as well.