Being a half-century old man is a ridiculous thing. We embarrass our children simply by being too close to them in public. We use Gen-Z slang like “my rizz is mid” and young people roll their eyes at us. We have long since retired from being attractive, so we venture into public wearing t-shirts from our 1994 fraternity fun-runs.
But here is the thing: we know we are embarrassing. We just don’t care.
At fifty, we no longer have anyone left to impress. At this point, we are what we are. There is no Hollywood career ahead of us, as if Stephen Spielberg is going to spot us in our socks and flip-flops at Costco and ask us to be the lead in his next war movie. A big publishing house is not showing up at our front door with an oversized check asking us to write our memoirs. The only way we are ever going to see our abs again is on an x-ray.
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