I started writing this earlier in the week, a reflection on my own aging, but rather than firing it off on my usual Sunday, I am sending it today from Terminal 1 at Frankfurt International. My mother was hospitalized Thursday with a nasty infection and I am going home to be with her and the family. 

Because of the ongoing American war in the Gulf my usual go-to flights—Qatar and Emirates both fly direct to Seattle over the North Pole—aren’t running. Nor are British Airways or Turkish Airlines flying their usual routes. So I departed Abu Dhabi at 2:10am bound for Frankfurt. I will leave here in four more hours and head for home.

The piece that follows was meant to be kinda light-hearted but reading it now, thinking about my own aging and mortality, it hits a little different. 

Last week Hope and I went to a comedy show in Dubai at a place called Mad Cat Comedy. The stand-up scene is oddly active in Dubai, given the speech restrictions that exist in the country. That might be why filming is verboten during the shows.

Hope and I arrived early and took seats in the second to last row, where we later realized all the forty somethings posted up. The show had six comics in two rounds of opener, feature, and headliner sets. The host was a very funny half-Indian and half-Afghan. He killed it all night with crowdwork playing on ethnic tropes and switching in and out of dialects. 

The comics hailed from Australia, Sudan, Romania, the UK, another funnier guy from Romania, and an amazing, sardonic headliner from India. He stole the evening. I kinda want to tell you his closing joke, which absolutely killed in the room, but it is not appropriate for the newsletter.

The guy that did the feature in the second round had a bonkers bit about aging that hit me like a sledgehammer. At one point he had everybody in the crowd who was in their twenties stand up and look at each other. They all woo’d and clapped exchanging goofy looks and grins. Then he yanked the rug out from under them saying “you’ll never look any better than you do right now… and for some of you that's a really bad sign!” The room howled. The forty-somethings that had gathered in our corner of the audience especially cackled.

The whole night was great and I would love to do it again but that comic routine really has me reflecting on aging and something that I'm going to call “the long 28.” 

My life fundamentally didn't change for about a decade and a half from the time I turned 28 in 2010. Sure, I got married, but I married the person who I had been dating since I was 25. I stayed in the same career. I’ve maintained most of the same passions, especially footy. My friend group remained largely unchanged. I currently belong to a few group chats that are almost old enough to vote.

My life for a long time was static.

Even when I moved overseas, I kept most of my same habits and routines. I traded watching soccer at Doyles in Tacoma for Fado in Al Khalidiya. Due to the Islamic calendar, Friday after work happy hours at Top of Tacoma became Friday afternoon brunches. Instead of escaping to Ocean Shores to fly my kite and get lost listening to music, I now go to Al Hudayriyat. 

I think for a long time I convinced myself I was that same cat I was in 2010. But the long 28 is a lie or at least it's a lie that ends eventually. And I'll be damned if I didn't wake up one day about a year ago, all of a sudden feeling mid-40s AF. 

Now that Mike Gundy “I’m a Man, I’m 40!” rant lives rent free in my head.

I wake up sore for no apparent reason.

The last time I played pickup soccer I almost died. My shoe game fell all the way off, if it ain't comfortable, I ain't wearing it. I see a doctor about my blood pressure. More people now come to me seeking financial advice than info about the best happy hours in town (Bentley Kitchen on Al Marayah by the way). After working at Lincoln for a decade, I’ve now been at ACS for seven years. 

I'm a veteran in every sense of the word. 

I understand the men in my family don’t live long lives, so I am trying to make better choices. Nowadays, you’re more likely to hear me extolling the virtues of mobility routines and Yoga with Kassandra on Youtube than talking about weekend party plans. 

I am officially an UNC, with Old Head status looming ominously.

This is something that has been niggling at the back of my brain but the comedian gave me words for it. 

And honestly? There’s a kind of peace in finally admitting you are no longer a young person pretending to have it figured out. Your twenties are aspiration and projection. Your thirties are mostly maintenance. Then one day you wake up in your forties realizing you’ve quietly become yourself.

I know what matters to me. I know which friendships endure. I know how I want to spend a Saturday afternoon. I value a peaceful evening, a decent audiobook or Netflix limited series, and as many  uninterrupted hours of sleep as I can get. 

There are worse things than becoming an Old Head.

Some people spend their whole lives chasing youth because they mistake it for happiness. But aging, if you’re lucky, is where clarity starts showing up.

Even if your back hurts while it happens.

–

On Monday, I published the latest episode of the podcast, a conversation with my student [name withheld] called What Gen Z is Saying.

There won't be a newsletter on Sunday because I will be with my family. I guess an upside of all this is I will be home for Mother’s Day.

I will speak with you all soon.