What Pop Culture Tells You About Turning 45

You’re old. That’s what it tells you.

This coming weekend, barring an apocalyptic alien invasion or an unfortunate and unexpected confrontation with some sort of homicidal mule, I will turn 46 years old. Like all ages, 46 feels a lot younger to a person as they rapidly approach it. There was a time that 46 felt impossibly old, but then again, there was a time that 26 felt impossibly old too. I have no doubt that there will be a point when I will look back at 46 and be astounded by how young and stupid I was once, how much life I had in front of me back then, and I have no doubt, if I make it, I’ll look back at 66 the same way. It happens. Time goes only one direction, after all.

I have generally made my peace with this. It’s not like I’m hanging with 22-year-olds constantly making cracks about my age. I’m 45. I hang out with other people who are roughly five or so years older or younger than me. (And our children, who think we are all roughly 164 years old.) Water always finds its level: A great way to never feel all that young or old is to hang out with people the same age as you. Everyone older than us doesn’t get understand how things work these days, the way that we do; everyone younger than us is too inexperienced and callow to know how the world has always worked, the way that we do. It’s a neat trick.