This morning, on my way to the office, it hit me like a bolt of lightning striking the base of a tree during a storm:
I am a year and change from turning 45.
Suddenly, my drive became a study in existential crisis as I reflected on various moments of my life. Sports radio was drowned out by mental images of high school decisions, first jobs, first heartbreaks, moments when I was too timid, and moments when I was way overconfident.
I thought about the last few years and the transitions my story has taken: three different jobs, a teenage kid starting high school, and another child on the cusp of that same milestone. My parents are getting slower as time begins to catch up with their dreams, and my wife looks exactly the same as she did when we met (note: Even in an article written for men like this one, it is smart to compliment your spouse lest she see it one day and realize you suggested she is getting older. Be wise, my friends!).
Should the Creator gift me with the average male life expectancy (79.8 years in Canada), I am presently in the middle stage of my earthly existence. I am at the peak of “Chris Chase Mountain,” looking out at the horizon. The sun is at its zenith, cascading over the scenery in a sight that a camera cannot capture because it never looks as good as what your eyes take in.
Soon enough, I’ll start walking downhill as the sun sets on my own story.
Now, that may sound morbid, but I think it’s poetic…beautiful, even.
I’ve been blessed with a life and hopefully have lived half of it thus far, which some never get the chance to experience. I’ve shared so many moments with people I love, people I like, and people who…are…umm…known to me.
So, what are some lessons I’ve learned on my way up the hill that will both heal and haunt me as I make my way down toward the eternal valley?
You can’t avoid mistakes, but you can learn from them.
I read a post the other day that said, “Every six months, I realize how stupid I was six months ago,” and I can relate to that deeply. As I look back on my teen years, my days as a young adult, and my time as a young married man with kids, right up to this middle-aged stage of life, there are many things I wish I could do again or undo.
But that’s not how life works—there are no do-overs. Even a practice round can’t be repeated. Mistakes and pratfalls will happen. No one, outside of Jesus, has lived a perfect life (Hebrews 4:15). But we can learn from each fall, either our own or the lessons of others, to anticipate mistakes or at least have clear ways to get back up and regain our footing. Detours might elongate your trip, but you’ll still get there.
Impact happens less through your words than your presence.
I am blessed to have a really cool family. My wife Rebecca and I have two teenagers who are both sorting out their own futures amid faith-building, friendships, faculty learning, and fun along the way. We’re an “I love you” family. We try to express that to one another all the time…well, getting the kids to say it to each other is a bit of a challenge, but you get where I’m coming from.
But I’ve learned as a middle-aged man that being there says more than my words ever could. Saying “I love you” but never sitting with my daughter to learn about the challenges of being a teenage woman makes those words seem hollow. Saying “I love you” but not helping my son develop his jump shot for his basketball team by taking him out to shoot around makes my statement seem like an empty promise. And my wife of 19 years…she’s heard all my words a thousand times over. It’s when I say, “Wanna go for a walk?”—even though I’d rather watch TV—that my words are reinforced.
I’ve learned as a middle-aged man that being there says more than my words ever could.
Presence matters—with my family, my close friends, and with the Lord, too. Being with Him, in prayer and study when no one is around, deepens my soul and removes the potential for lip-service worship (Matthew 15:7-9).
Your legacy is still being written.
Yes, Chris—you are not as fast as you used to be. You get up a lot more in the middle of the night. You’re not old yet, but you’re not young either.
You’re at the peak of the mountain.
Take a breather. And another one.
You’re okay.
You’re not irrelevant or out of touch…even if you don’t know what “skibidi Ohio” means. You still have so much to do and so much to offer the world around you.
Those who are ahead of you in age and stage need encouragement to finish their stories well while passing on their life lessons to the generations to come (note: we need to be better at writing things down for posterity’s sake!).
And those coming behind us, starting with our kids and those after, need to see a world left for them with room to create with freedom, grow with confidence, and affect change with God-given purpose.
You still have a chance to do this. Every day you’re still above ground, you’re writing a legacy. Your daily decisions will impact what that legacy ultimately becomes.
My life is far from over. In some ways, my story is just beginning.
Every day you’re still above ground, you’re writing a legacy.
So, as I walk down the mountain of middle age, I’m grateful for the lessons learned, the love shared, and the legacy being built.
What am I not thankful for?
Constant knee pain. But that’s for another day…
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