Meditations on 50

A better late than never reflection

Tomorrow I will teach my last class of the year. The start of this past academic year feels like a few seconds ago. On August 25th, 2024, I turned 50. Fall classes began the next day, and now the year is over. What follows is a piece of writing I've wanted to get out since then.

Turning 50 left a mark. It felt weighty; the reality that I'm in the second half slapped me in the face. The day before my birthday, I went climbing for the first time in many years. I felt frail and afraid. Old. On my birthday, I wanted to suffer more comfortably. To run. My daughter suggested I run five "penalty laps," one for each decade. What we call the penalty lap is trail climbing 1000' in about a mile just east of my house. I set out early, alone, just after sunrise. It's about a mile to the climb proper, and during that warm-up, I conjured a plan. Each lap would be a meditation on a decade of life. I would ponder the question—what event during this decade played the most significant role in shaping the person I am today?

Decade 1: 0 to 10

I suppose the technically correct answer for my first decade is birth. But we'll set that aside.

Early in life I learned that something was wrong with my left foot. I recall the doctors calling it "metatarsis adductus." I don’t know if that's a real medical term. What was real, was the fact that my left foot bends in more than it should. My parents were concerned and wanted it fixed. One doctor suggested breaking my foot and binding it as it healed. My grandfather was on the board of a place called the Crotched Mountain Rehabilitation center. It was a hospital where children with severe disabilities got care. He knew an orthopedist there and set me up with an appointment.

When we arrived, I quickly saw that the kids there had real problems. Hardships far beyond what I thought I was dealing with. For a moment, however, I wondered if I might be one of them. That I might have something so horrible that I’d have to stay there. I'm not proud of this sensation, but it's what I felt at the time, and it scared me.

The doctor was kind and concurred that breaking my foot was the right call. Perhaps I was channeling the fear, but I said "No! We're not doing that." The doc said the only alternative was a set of Forrest Gump-style braces. That’s what we did. I hated those things and the hideous boots that soon followed.

Though I didn't grasp it at the time, that was the first time an authority figure told me something was wrong me me and I disagreed. The project of learning to trust my body began that day.

I’ll get to the next decade tomorrow…