Both Sides Now

Early this week, I was surprised to find myself describe a person whose expertise I admire as not being mature enough to handle a particular job. It was a description I would not have understood over 15 years ago when my boss then effectively said the same thing about me.

In a note in reply to a birthday message I had sent when I was no longer working for him he said — “I knew it was your time to go. I was hoping that ultimately you would reflect on your years (here) and from that grow emotionally.”

Although it had been over a year since I had left the company, and he did end his note with quite a few nice words about me, hearing his version of things still rankled. Childishly I wanted to remind him that I was the one who resigned but I guess that would have just proven his point. So I no longer replied.

But did I really understand him? Perhaps in principle I did but I don’t think I really agreed. At least not then. So how did I get from there to here, describing someone who no doubt would probably feel the same as I did then? Was it simply the passage of time?

Let’s Get Physical

If maturity was defined simply by number of years one has spent on this planet I definitely qualify. I turn 56 this year, the same age my father was when he retired from the military. And while I understand now that the Philippine military’s early retirement age is to allow its officers to explore other pursuits as my father eventually did with the Rotary, at that point I’m sure I thought of him as one whose professional career was largely behind him.

But when I look at myself in the mirror, I do not yet see my father. Is it because I do not have the burden of raising a family of six? Or that our generation, born during the flower power sixties, has tried to hang on to our youth much more than the World War II babies ever did? Or is it simply because as a gay man, cliche or not, I am definitely a lot more vain than my father ever was?

My partner Keith believes we look our best in our teens and reach the height of our looks in high school. I suppose that’s objectively true but that’s certainly not how I feel. In fact, nowadays, I always think I look better that I ever have. Which is not to say I am not aware of my gradually receding hairline and sagging jowls especially when I look at pictures of my youth. But back then I suppose all I could see staring back at me in the mirror was the insecurity I felt inside.

But even physically, what is visible is only part of the story. And this part is harder to deny. Maintenance pills to control cholesterol, multiple eyeglasses strategically located to ensure I can read more than between the lines, and an addiction to Tiger Balm Neck and Shoulder Rub to guarantee a good night sleep let me know every day I am at the second half of my life.

Losing My Mind

My mind is definitely not as sharp as it used to be. Certainly not like the days when I could dictate without peeking my friends’ Pocketbell pager numbers or the weekly program schedule of the top TV networks before the advent of the primetime telenovela when each night actually had a different show after the evening news. I blame technology and Google for making all information available with just a couple of keystrokes.

There was a time I would keep my mind busy at the treadmill by reciting like a mantra all the top winners of the Oscars, from supporting actress to best picture from the the year I was born (that would be Shelly Winters and The Sound of Music in 1965 – I always count by film year and not by year of award) to whatever year had just ended. It was a skill that was great for the occasional game of trivia and themed crossword puzzles. But with the advent of wifi and IMDB, it was a parlor trick that was no longer quite fulfilling.

I have totally surrendered to technology, giving up privacy for the convenience of checking my timeline on Maps and finding out exactly in which food stall I had the perfect Hainanese chicken rice when I attended a conference in Singapore three years ago. If my laptop, cellphone, and internet identity were erased today would I still know anyone’s contact number or birthday or even my own memories?

By uploading all this data to the cloud, a lot of our brainpower has now been freed up to do other things from the analytical to the creative. We can discern connections and draw conclusions from competing data available anywhere in the world or create new forms of expression or just make the old ones our own. Or we can choose to occupy our minds binge-watching the latest Netflix series, or getting swallowed by addictive apps (that’s embarrassingly still you Candy Crush now at Level 4782).

There’s really no one way to go. I’ve tried all and I can’t knock any choice. Each is fulfilling in its own way. With age comes experience and there is a certain joy to recognizing patterns and applying lessons from an old life to a totally new one. There is always something to learn from everyone. Although I do admit to being impatient with people who will still open their mouth to say things I can easily Google.

I Second That Emotion

In my college year book, I wrote a poem that began by stating that I was still the same little boy I had always been behind the picture of a graduate in academic robes. Thirty-five years later, I still know how that feels.

Not that I still feel like a little kid. Not all the time anyway. But the feelings of the little boy that I was can still feel as real and as immediate to me as anything that has come after. The fear of failing a test, the excitement of winning a contest, the thrill of first love, and the pain of a broken heart. All still real.

But while the highs and lows still feel the same, I know how I handle these have changed. Is that maturity? Is maturity just another word for self-control?

All these years later, as I assessed another person’s ability to handle a responsibility, I began to appreciate what my ex-boss thought when he said “many times I regret not having that competence since you left but emotionally you got a long way to go.”

Yes maturity is partly self-control but it is a lot more than that. It is mostly being at peace with your place in the world. It is not needing to be right all the time. It is recognizing that sometimes you are the star and sometimes you let others shine. It is having your say and understanding that it is just one piece of a complicated puzzle. And it is knowing that you are always more than your work.

I think when I wasn’t out at work it was more difficult for me to accept that I was not my job and any failing was by definition personal. I was not wrong but I was not right either. Which is why my boss had a hard time managing me. Could he have handled me better? Perhaps. But that would be a different story.

My ex-boss ended his note this way — “As in all relationships both corporate and personal sometimes the learning takes place many eons after. Anyway I hold you fondly in my heart. Be happy.”

If you ever read this I hope you know I hold you fondly in my heart too. And yes I am happy.