Decades

A decade is roughly 3,650 days. A decade is artifice, an arbitrary chunk of Chronos time, a container where you can place pieces of your life.

A decade is about half a generation. By the end of your first decade you’re in 4th grade. By the end of your second decade you’re halfway through college. When I turned 30, I had a wife, a daughter and a management job at the bank.

The midlife decades (#4, #5) turn choppy and muddled, less linear. We reinvent ourselves. We self-destruct, we implode and leave behind a debris field. In the aftermath, we mellow. We grow more comfortable in our own skin. The highs and lows even out.

Our metabolism slows and we conserve energy. We tolerate less and forgive more. Conversations turn from career to health, from ambition and accomplishments to ailments.

In my sixth decade, my 50’s, I lived in North Carolina, Florida, in California for the second time, and now I’m back in NC again. My dad passed away; my mom remarried. Both daughters finished college and married. The nest emptied. I had a stroke. The job market closed me out. In response, I’ve been on a hot streak, self-publishing my books and helping my clients with their debut books (many of those starting from an impulse, an idea, a kernel).

Tomorrow morning, I turn 60 but it’s not about the number of years. It’s the decades which consume my attention, the larger swaths of human time.

Entering my seventh decade, I have no idea what is next. Some days not much happens. On a busy day, two things happen and one of them is a trip to the grocery store. Given my family history, this is probably my last decade. I have no regrets whatsoever. I am grateful for family and friends, and small victorious moments when the words that I put on the page do not let me down. Time is slowing down even as it accelerates. I’m guessing this is the way it has always been.