I'm not sure what qualifications are needed to call oneself a writer, but I take the liberty of wearing that label. I am a writer. Though I'm sure some posts are too long and wordy, and I'm sure there are a few flaws of grammar woven through my self-edited and self-published ramblings, I have been recording thoughts and events on this small piece of internet real estate for a few weeks short of a decade. And, a few folks have even read what I wrote. I think that qualifies.
A decade, though...
Backside of Forty is just a few weeks shy of ten years old and I'm now on the backside of FIFTY. Little did I know when I titled this blog just how significant the title and life on the backside of forty would become.
I came into age forty with a wife and two kids I loved, a fulfilling job I liked, a daughter in China that I would soon bring home, and a "surprise" baby on the way. It was a little scary, but exciting! I felt like I knew where my life was going and I liked its direction. All seemed right and my forecast was for good years ahead.
The reality, though, is that my forties very quickly took a pretty dark turn. Like... ten years of dark turns. Oh, there were plenty of good times. Heck, I'd go so far as to say there were plenty of great times. I'm really glad that I recorded so many of them here through the decade. But life-- real life-- underlying those good times was pretty dark.
My forties greeted me with national economic uncertainty that claimed my job as it took down the architectural company that employed me, and continued to cut a wide gaping gash across the entire American housing market. I scrambled to find another way to support my family that had just leapt from four to six, and spent the next several years struggling through the employment world and grasping just to try to replace the income I lost, even though I worked diligently.
Some blog posts touched on this, but mostly I struggled privately.
Just a few years into my forties, my marriage came unglued. Much of the eight-ish year struggle and pain of ending what had been built was a private struggle that only became somewhat public in the last few years. Divorce was not something I initially wanted, but as the years of struggle unfolded, I conceded, then came to finally desire that outcome.
Some blog posts touched on this, but mostly I struggled privately.
My fourth (and final) baby, born as I entered my forties, quickly began to show signs of developmental delay. This lead to questions and exploration, only to discover a rare genetic disorder and the reality that my son's development and future will look very different than most other kids. My heart often breaks for this one, as I watch him struggle to learn the alphabet, or to count past ten. My dreams for him are the things taken for granted with many kids... reading, writing, independence...
Some blog posts touched on this, but mostly I struggled privately.
As my forties continued to unfold, parenting became increasingly more difficult. Sure, kids were moving into teenage years and hurling toward adulthood... difficult is a given. But, the home dynamics changed pretty dramatically. Worldviews changed and shifted. The spiritual and conservative family foundation became somewhat eroded. Parenting my kids began to feel more like a competition and the rules that applied depended on which parent was home. This had to be hell for kids (I'm sorry, guys). I witnessed many parenting casualties that were painful to me. I now rarely see or talk to my firstborn. I assume this is his reaction to a protracted family unit death that consumed the entirety of his adolescence. Still, it hurts. It's a wound I hope someday heals. I've watched my older kids decide my faith is not their faith and decide other influences speak more loudly to them. I hope they will one day choose to walk with God, but statistically, I acknowledge that it is not extremely probable.
Some blog posts touched on this, but mostly I struggled privately.
As I moved past my mid forties and toward my late forties, the writing of this blog became more difficult. Fun posts were starting to look and sound similar after multiple OBX trips, backpacking outings, bike rides, and Kennywood days. The reflections and thoughts on life that I tried to mix throughout to give the blog deeper substance became darker... more personal... and, therefore, largely unwritten. Much of what I wanted to write (because writing is cathartic) became too personal for public consumption. Much of the fulfillment this blog provided me ground to a halt as I felt stifled and restricted as a writer. I often stared at a cursor flashing on a blank page with thoughts in my head that I wanted to spill out and publish, but the cursor continued to flash, acknowledging that the thoughts were not Backside of Forty appropriate.
I assumed that writing would get easier once my divorce was finally final. I anticipated then being able to write about living through some of the experiences of a long marital decline and the transition from married to divorced.
But then I crossed that threshold... ironically, as I also crossed the threshold of fifty. And, I found that I don't want to. I don't want to write much about the past. I don't want to dwell in the past. I am now on the backside of a new decade... the backside of fifty... and I really just hope to leave all that baggage in the forties. Maybe I'll write about it someday. Maybe I'll write about it somewhere. But not here. Not now. This is not the time nor place.
I think it is just relative coincidence that major life shifts have coincided with decade milestones in my life. Nonetheless, the fifth decade brings a new life phase and major life turns. Single at fifty is not the life I would have chosen for myself, but I face it with optimism. I can't undo all the damage of the past decade, but I can try to heal much of it, and my life is kinda mine to rebuild. The past is still written (figuratively, and somewhat literally) but a new chapter is mine to write and the cursor is flashing on a blank page.
And, that imagery tells me it is time to close Backside of Forty. I don't ever anticipate removing it from the internet. I want it there for my kids. But, I don't want to write here anymore. The symbolism of the title has become a significant reminder to me to try to leave the baggage back there and move forward. Perhaps closing the blog represents a form of personal closure.
I feel like I will still write. I'm not sure when, how often, or what that looks like. It very well may be another blog that looks similar to this... it is what I know. (No... I doubt that it will be titled, Backside of Fifty!) It may be something completely different. I dream of a book, but I haven't found it inside me yet. It may be a platform with more anonymity. It may be something as simple as a private journal. It may be present day, or it may be unpacking some of the past. I don't know.
At any rate, I am a writer, for I have written.
And, to you, I say... thanks for reading... thanks for following... thanks for engaging. But...
Sorry, We're Closed.
