I don’t know— perhaps this wasn’t your intent when writing, but entering the Oldmanosphere sounds kind of… nice. Like life is starting to make more sense, and feel easier. Not because you’ve figured it out but because you’ve learned just enough to chill out. Or something like that.
Anyway, I need to get back to work. But y’all should appreciate the fact that you’re allowed to slow down.
Life in the Fast Lane is overrated. The Eagles knew what they were about.
Florian, this is such a generous and thoughtful comment. Thank you.
You’ve put your finger on one of the better parts of getting older: some of the false urgency starts to fall away. I still care about things, but I’ve gotten a little better at noticing which things actually are worth the energy expenditure.
The Oldmanosphere has its costs, and I’m definitely not recommending it. But the ability to slow down and stop treating every passing panic as a five-alarm fire is one of the better compensating prizes.
Yes exactly, wisdom (which commonly comes as a side dish with age) definitely helps ya notice when things are worth-while. I think, on top that though, age brings less demands on your time. Especially retirement. Less people demand your attention, time, and effort. A double-edged sword, I guess, but still definitely conducive to chilling out.
Gotta count those blessings. Same goes for me I suppose. It's true that I can't wholeheartedly recommend any stage of life I've been through so far (except being REALLY little. That's basically just 24/7 fun). They all (unfortunately) seem pretty balanced between up- and down-sides.
Nevertheless, there's a corner of my soul that can't wait to put on a tweed jacket, get out a pipe, and nearsightedly read the newspaper over a mug of black joe.
I’ll grant that age can bring wisdom, and you seem wise beyond your years at this point.
But I’m not willing to hand it out automatically. Wisdom is not a participation trophy for not dying. Plenty of guys just get keep aging and become older idiots with bad backs.
This is pretty great — funny, knowing and not too depressing for this old man. It is plain that those in the manosphere will never have the sense of humor you have tapped into.
I like the illustration of the minds of husbands and wives although it is also a perfect depiction of the imbalance in emotional labor that women have rightly been complaining about. Our self-imposed stupidity is probably not so funny to our partners.
And yes, that’s exactly the darker truth hiding underneath the joke: what looks like lovable male cluelessness from one angle can look a lot like unpaid emotional labor from the other side of the couch.
I’m trying to keep it funny, but not let us entirely off the hook.
Something wonderful happened a week ago ... as I recall. I tripped on a hole left when my husband pulled a gigantic weed out of the ground, leaving a deep pit where the root ball used to be. I whirled around to land on my back and avert injury of something useful. I lay there, feeling a boulder under my shoulders that a thick stand of long grass ... with huge root balls ... padded my fall. Now what? Would I die, baking in the hot sun? For how long? My only child is too busy to wonder if I'm still alive. The only house nearby is abandoned. I'm hosed. Either I make the effort to rise on my own or it's all over. Here lies (fill in the blank) who succumbed from multiple bites from garden pests. There's not much left to inter or BBQ.
First, I’m glad you survived the Weed Crater Incident.
Second, I love how quickly the older-person brain goes from “I have fallen” to “this is where my story ends, in the yard, being slowly reclaimed by insects while my family goes about their day.”
This feels like the advanced version of the “do I really need to bend over for that?” calculation. At some point aging turns every physical task into a cost-benefit analysis.
Your Old Man articles always delight me to the core. Uncontrollable laughter like no other Substacker induces. So, I'm glad you enjoyed my contribution to the literature on this subject. And you're right. Everything becomes a cost-benefit analysis. Like shopping at Walmart vs Dollar General Market. How many miles to I really want to walk today just for bread and milk?
Oh by the way, top this!! My husband once fell asleep while we were at my oncologist’s office discussing my cancer diagnosis!!! That was not laughable. :(
This was a great read! Made me laugh, which is always a good thing. 😊 My hubby never leaves the house without me asking him if he has his glasses, wallet, and phone. Most often it’s the phone left behind or the list I made so he wouldn’t forget what he was supposed to buy. He too is a Home Depot guy. He can disappear for hours. Lol. We laugh about these things thank heavens!
The glasses/wallet/phone check is basically the modern marital departure safety inspection.
Home Depot really does have some kind of archaeological-dig quality for Old Guys. They go in for one thing, disappear for hours, and eventually emerge dusty and disoriented, carrying a strange tool, three batteries, and something they insist “might come in handy someday.”
'If another Old Guy asked me for his number, I’d again think hard before sharing." I am so afraid my gardener will get too many clients and will quit me, and every time he comes to work, my neighbors want his number... oh no!
"... something falls on the floor and, for a moment, you wonder if you really need it." I just do a once-at-the -end-of-the-day sweep up into a very long-handled dust pan...
"And you fall asleep. Everywhere. All the time." waiting for a bus, riding a bus, dentist chair...
"So you sit down, grateful and humiliated in exactly equal measure, and understand that you have been reclassified." I can live with reclassified.
And I fully support the long-handled dustpan strategy. At a certain age, dustpans aren’t just for dust anymore. They’re for anything you’re not emotionally prepared to bend over for.
Right! And, btw, I love it that your last name is an adjectival comparative. And as I read your stories, Mike, I often find myself thinking, this is not just bryskier, it is the bryskiest. What is wrong with me? 🙄
Not an Old Guy here. Young Guy.
I don’t know— perhaps this wasn’t your intent when writing, but entering the Oldmanosphere sounds kind of… nice. Like life is starting to make more sense, and feel easier. Not because you’ve figured it out but because you’ve learned just enough to chill out. Or something like that.
Anyway, I need to get back to work. But y’all should appreciate the fact that you’re allowed to slow down.
Life in the Fast Lane is overrated. The Eagles knew what they were about.
Florian, this is such a generous and thoughtful comment. Thank you.
You’ve put your finger on one of the better parts of getting older: some of the false urgency starts to fall away. I still care about things, but I’ve gotten a little better at noticing which things actually are worth the energy expenditure.
The Oldmanosphere has its costs, and I’m definitely not recommending it. But the ability to slow down and stop treating every passing panic as a five-alarm fire is one of the better compensating prizes.
And yes, The Eagles nailed it 50 years ago.
Aw man, I'm so glad it hit home.
Yes exactly, wisdom (which commonly comes as a side dish with age) definitely helps ya notice when things are worth-while. I think, on top that though, age brings less demands on your time. Especially retirement. Less people demand your attention, time, and effort. A double-edged sword, I guess, but still definitely conducive to chilling out.
Gotta count those blessings. Same goes for me I suppose. It's true that I can't wholeheartedly recommend any stage of life I've been through so far (except being REALLY little. That's basically just 24/7 fun). They all (unfortunately) seem pretty balanced between up- and down-sides.
Nevertheless, there's a corner of my soul that can't wait to put on a tweed jacket, get out a pipe, and nearsightedly read the newspaper over a mug of black joe.
I’ll grant that age can bring wisdom, and you seem wise beyond your years at this point.
But I’m not willing to hand it out automatically. Wisdom is not a participation trophy for not dying. Plenty of guys just get keep aging and become older idiots with bad backs.
Keep the tweed jacket on standby. Skip the pipe.
Your turn will come fast enough.
Thank you for sharing.
This is pretty great — funny, knowing and not too depressing for this old man. It is plain that those in the manosphere will never have the sense of humor you have tapped into.
I like the illustration of the minds of husbands and wives although it is also a perfect depiction of the imbalance in emotional labor that women have rightly been complaining about. Our self-imposed stupidity is probably not so funny to our partners.
Thank you — I really appreciate that.
And yes, that’s exactly the darker truth hiding underneath the joke: what looks like lovable male cluelessness from one angle can look a lot like unpaid emotional labor from the other side of the couch.
I’m trying to keep it funny, but not let us entirely off the hook.
At least, that's the goal.
Again, you've induced uncontrollable laughter.
Something wonderful happened a week ago ... as I recall. I tripped on a hole left when my husband pulled a gigantic weed out of the ground, leaving a deep pit where the root ball used to be. I whirled around to land on my back and avert injury of something useful. I lay there, feeling a boulder under my shoulders that a thick stand of long grass ... with huge root balls ... padded my fall. Now what? Would I die, baking in the hot sun? For how long? My only child is too busy to wonder if I'm still alive. The only house nearby is abandoned. I'm hosed. Either I make the effort to rise on my own or it's all over. Here lies (fill in the blank) who succumbed from multiple bites from garden pests. There's not much left to inter or BBQ.
Sue, this is magnificent.
First, I’m glad you survived the Weed Crater Incident.
Second, I love how quickly the older-person brain goes from “I have fallen” to “this is where my story ends, in the yard, being slowly reclaimed by insects while my family goes about their day.”
This feels like the advanced version of the “do I really need to bend over for that?” calculation. At some point aging turns every physical task into a cost-benefit analysis.
First it’s something on the floor. Then it’s you.
Thanks for sharing.
Your Old Man articles always delight me to the core. Uncontrollable laughter like no other Substacker induces. So, I'm glad you enjoyed my contribution to the literature on this subject. And you're right. Everything becomes a cost-benefit analysis. Like shopping at Walmart vs Dollar General Market. How many miles to I really want to walk today just for bread and milk?
🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
Oh by the way, top this!! My husband once fell asleep while we were at my oncologist’s office discussing my cancer diagnosis!!! That was not laughable. :(
OUCH!! And I'm sorry this happened.
I shall look no further: a champion fall-asleeper has been crowned.
Somehow I don’t think it’s an honor!! Lol.
This was a great read! Made me laugh, which is always a good thing. 😊 My hubby never leaves the house without me asking him if he has his glasses, wallet, and phone. Most often it’s the phone left behind or the list I made so he wouldn’t forget what he was supposed to buy. He too is a Home Depot guy. He can disappear for hours. Lol. We laugh about these things thank heavens!
Thank you — I’m so glad it made you laugh.
The glasses/wallet/phone check is basically the modern marital departure safety inspection.
Home Depot really does have some kind of archaeological-dig quality for Old Guys. They go in for one thing, disappear for hours, and eventually emerge dusty and disoriented, carrying a strange tool, three batteries, and something they insist “might come in handy someday.”
Laughing again!
'If another Old Guy asked me for his number, I’d again think hard before sharing." I am so afraid my gardener will get too many clients and will quit me, and every time he comes to work, my neighbors want his number... oh no!
"... something falls on the floor and, for a moment, you wonder if you really need it." I just do a once-at-the -end-of-the-day sweep up into a very long-handled dust pan...
"And you fall asleep. Everywhere. All the time." waiting for a bus, riding a bus, dentist chair...
"So you sit down, grateful and humiliated in exactly equal measure, and understand that you have been reclassified." I can live with reclassified.
Sharron, your comment made me laugh.
And I fully support the long-handled dustpan strategy. At a certain age, dustpans aren’t just for dust anymore. They’re for anything you’re not emotionally prepared to bend over for.
Thanks for sharing.
Right! And, btw, I love it that your last name is an adjectival comparative. And as I read your stories, Mike, I often find myself thinking, this is not just bryskier, it is the bryskiest. What is wrong with me? 🙄