45 and the Mid-Life Brisk Walk

I recently turned 45 years old. Officially, “mid-life territory,” as I was reminded ever so gently. Although hearing this non-disputable truth gave a bit of a sting to my ego, my soul had known for years that mid-life was upon me.  

We, adults, are not too different from children. I don’t know how often I have to remind my boys to clean up their trash from the basement or put their clothes away in their rooms. Or my personal favorite, “the dishwasher is dirty; why don’t you throw your bowl in there while you’re at it…thank you very much.”  

We all know the saying, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. We are human; we need to be reminded over and over again. 

When getting older, sometimes the reminders come straightforwardly, like a birthday; other times, the subtle daily activities can remind me of a more profound truth. Lately, this has come on the walking trail. More specifically, succumbing to the “mid-life brisk walk.”  

Over the last few years, I have started each morning with a walk on the local trail. Besides the obvious physical benefits, it has also helped my emotional and mental states. That said, every morning is an excellent reminder of what I can longer do either. Due to the wear and tear over the years, my knees will no longer allow me to run or bike. (Maybe it is a bit of laziness, too, and besides, how does one ride a bike for a distance without your butt hurting for three days afterward).

The realization of not being able to run or do any actual strenuous exercising wasn’t always easy to accept. The old athlete ego/identity thing didn’t like that too much. Accepting my limitations in that way, when you were once paid to be an athlete, caused some frustrations and anxieties. Yet, nothing that I haven’t gone through before. Thank God.

I have found that growing older is the process of experiencing many small deaths. Deaths to our ego, deaths to a mindset, deaths at times, to values that we thought were a big deal. Although these small little deaths can be painful (our egos don’t like to lose), they open our minds and hearts to a much bigger and joyful view of ourselves, others, life, and God. 

If we pay attention, life becomes less either/or and more both/and. We become more inclusive and less judgmental. We tend to laugh at our imperfections rather than pretend to live with the fantasy of striving to be perfect. Ultimately, we begin to see ourselves as we are, not what we think we have to be. Somehow, it is precisely through failures that we become peaceful—what a glorious paradox.  

Ultimately, the little deaths throw us off the “power train” that everyone else thinks is the only ride in town. This allows us to choose the “clunky ride” of living imperfectly but securely without needing to compare and compete with everything and everyone. (Especially about our kids). What freedom.

Although I have succumbed to the “brisk walk,” I am grateful for the journey. The journey of discovering and rediscovering my true self in this beautifully broken thing we call life… a life with the ultimate limitation of time.  

So no need to run. No need to ride fast. Enjoy the walk… even with a limp.

Until we walk with despair, and still have hope, we will not know that our hope was not just hope in ourselves, in our own successes, in our power to make a difference, in our image of what perfection should be. We need hope from a much deeper Source. We need a hope larger than ourselves.

Until we walk with personal issues of despair, we will never uncover the Real Hope on the other side of that despair. Until we allow the crash and crush of our images, we will never discover the Real Life beyond what only seems like death. Remember, death is an imaginary loss of an imaginary self, that is going to pass anyway.

This very journey is probably the heart of what Jesus came to reveal.”

-Richard Rohr