Age Ain't Nothin' But A Number

I Don't Look That Old

I don't feel nearly as old as I look. I'm not quite sure exactly how an almost-35-year-old is supposed to feel, but what I do know is that there's a big discrepancy between how I'm perceived by others on the outside and how I perceive myself on the inside.

This was made exceptionally clear to me a couple of weeks ago when I was asked to play pickup basketball with some 20-year-olds. Surprisingly, I kept up pretty well! There was definitely a stark difference in raw athleticism between them and me, but despite this, I held my own and played a solid game on both sides of the ball for the three games I was able to muster—before my lungs started screaming at me to sit down somewhere.

During the games, I saw myself the same way I saw the other guys: as a young man enjoying the friendly competition of a pickup basketball game. But toward the end, one of the guys I was playing with referred to me as "OG"—short for "original gangster," which is essentially a term of respect for your elders in some Black communities—similar to, and almost as offensive as, "Unc," lol. And while I could tell he didn’t mean it as disrespect in any way, I was still briefly taken aback and thought to myself, Damn, do I really look that old?

I guess that I do. I’m sure the bald head does me no favors. My skee-ball head, coupled with the grey patch in my beard that seems to be getting bigger by the day, makes it obvious that I’ve been around for quite a while—so I totally understand why I’m perceived the way that I am. But what’s confusing is that inwardly, I feel as youthful as ever. In fact, I actually feel younger on the inside than I did in my early twenties—and that’s largely due to how my perception of both life and time has changed since then.

So much of the reality of age is skewed by the illusions of perception. I remember being 13, in the 8th grade, and being visited by some high school kids who came to our middle school to tell us what to expect as we transitioned into freshman year. I was amazed—and a bit intimidated—by how “grown” these 15-, 16-, and 17-year-olds looked and seemed, lol.

Fast forward 10 years to when I was 23: I had just moved to Oklahoma City and met a girl at a house party who I was very interested in getting to know. A couple of days after we met, I texted her to see if she wanted to meet at a bar and grab a drink with me. My heart sank as I read her reply: “I’m not old enough to drink at a bar, lol.”

Which was hella confusing, because not only did she look over 21—she was definitely drinking at the house party where we met. Turns out, she was 18. And even though I was only five years older at the time, I felt like a creep trying to "rob the cradle" just by hitting on her. Which is funny, because just ten years prior, 18 was a fully grown adult in my mind.

Bodies Age — Beings Do Not

It’s almost as if age has no reality outside of our perceptions. Don’t get me wrong—I definitely wake up with more aches and pains than I did when I was younger, and I definitely don’t recover as fast as I once did. The biggest reason I don’t drink alcohol anymore is that it just seems like my body can’t handle it—something I have to attribute, at least in part, to age. But outside of physical changes, I don’t think age makes nearly as big of a difference in adults as we like to imagine it does.

Hell, even in my 20s, I assumed everyone 35+ had life all figured out, had healed from all past wounds and trauma, and were serious, mature people who helped hold the fabric of society together through their combined wisdom. What I’ve learned, as I rapidly approach this 35+ threshold myself, is that most people over this age don’t have everything figured out. Like, at all, lol. Many of them do have well-established careers—and perhaps a family and a mortgage—but inwardly, most are still figuring this thing called “life” out just like we were when we were kids… if not more so.

I’ve always been attracted to older women, and I think their having more lived experience is a big part of why—because wisdom is sexy. My last relationship gave me the opportunity to bring my older woman fantasy into reality, as the woman I was with is 12 years my senior. But it might surprise you to hear that I almost never thought about our age gap when we were together.

It’s not just because she has a youthful spirit or because I’m “wise beyond my years”—it’s because, deep down, we connected on a soul level. And on a soul level, time doesn’t apply. So many times, even though I was looking into a forty-something-year-old face, it felt like I was actually interacting with a little girl. A little girl who just wanted to be seen, loved, and treated kindly—just like the little boy in me did too.

It seems to me that the whole “old and mature” thing us middle-aged people do is a bit of roleplay—a persona we project at work and in public to help perpetuate the conspiracy of age equating to maturity. But when we’re alone or with people we trust, the inner child in each of us comes back out to play, and we’re back to sticking our tongues out at each other and laughing at fart jokes.

I legit know a fifty-something-year-old C-suite executive who takes great care of his family and his business but also loves to smoke weed—and still feels the need to hide it from his mom because he doesn’t want to upset or disappoint her. Just like a teenager would. Because, despite how old and serious he looks to others on the outside, on the inside he’s a big kid—and that’s a big part of why he’s so fun to talk to and be around.

What I’ve learned is that most people don’t mature so much as they conform. There are lots of old fools and lots of young sages, and it seems to me that which of those we become has far less to do with how much time we’ve spent on Earth and far more to do with how we’ve spent that time—and whether we’ve taken the time to intentionally reflect, learn, and grow from our experiences.

You Have To Get Older To Get Better

What’s crazy is that I’m a better basketball player now than I’ve ever been before. I’m not as athletic as I once was—can’t run as fast or jump as high—but in terms of skill, basketball IQ, and game feel, I’ve never been better. And it’s surreal to say (or write) this out loud because, for the longest time, I thought my basketball-playing days would’ve been over once I hit 30.

But it turns out that in order to get better at anything, you have to spend a significant amount of time practicing that thing—and an inevitable side effect of spending significant time on anything is that we get older. In this sense, aging and improving are indivisible. We can’t get better at anything without also getting older. Which should mean that the most valuable among us should theoretically be the oldest among us—but we humans don’t see each other that way.

If we were to walk into a forest, I can almost guarantee that the most impressive trees we’d encounter would be the oldest ones. And even though human beings are capable of so much more than trees, for some reason, we tend to see ourselves as becoming less impressive, valuable, or desirable with age instead of more. I have a lot of theories as to why this is, but I think the biggest and most obvious reason is our fear of death—and the fact that older people remind us of this inevitable fate approaching.

Our society lives in such denial of death that it also forces us to live in denial of life. And in my opinion, this is the main reason why youth is held in such high regard. It has less to do with people actually losing value as we age and more to do with not being able to accept our mortality.

I truly can’t think of a better reward for a life well-lived than to die in peace. Which is why efforts by people like Bryan Johnson—who’s obsessed with developing technology that could allow for immortality—make no sense to me. The fact that nothing in form lasts forever is an incredible blessing because that's what makes experiencing things so sweet.

Imagine if an orgasm never ended—how long would it take before the highest pleasure transformed into the highest pain? I’d guess minutes, at most. A large part of what makes experiences like orgasms so incredible is that they end, which creates the space for desire to arise again. Without that space for tension to build, the release wouldn’t feel nearly as good.

In my opinion, life is much like the space in which the tension builds between our past lives and our next one and death is the orgasm—the ultimate release that acts as a blissful vehicle to carry us from one phase of being to the next. And I just can't understand why anyone would want to cheat themselves out of that. Perhaps because, they've convinced themselves through their material wealth that they've already achieved the pinnacle of existence.

But the evolution of life is a never-ending process—one that depends on death to drive it forward. So despite his best efforts, I’d be willing to bet that Mr. Johnson is still going to die. And perhaps, if he could accept that—rather than searching for meaning in life through escaping death—he might actually enjoy the life he has left a lot more in the meantime.

Aging Is Creativity in Action

And that creativity is beautiful to witness—as long as we’re open to the idea of becoming something different. I certainly haven’t always been open to that idea.

Growing up, I always had a pretty specific picture of what I wanted myself to look like. What I wanted myself to be doing. Who I wanted to be around. And I really couldn’t fathom enjoying a life that didn’t fit that picture.

My life at 34 is pretty much the exact opposite of what I pictured it being at 24—and I’m so grateful that it is.

We love to assume that we’ll want tomorrow the same things we want today. But if we reflect with honesty, most of us will see that, as time passes, what we want changes. There are many things that would’ve brought me pleasure at 24 that would bring me pain at 34—because my perspective has shifted substantially since then.

And really, why would you want to want the same things your entire life anyway? It seems kinda lame to never change what you’re doing, what you’re studying, what you like, or what you believe. To be alive is to be in perpetual motion—which, ironically, means that those working their damndest to avoid aging are actually already dead in a sense, because they’re inadvertently trying to stop life from progressing.

There’s really no such thing as a creative block. Creativity is always there—because life is inherently creative. But we can’t harness that creativity if we’re attached to an idea of what life should be. Or of what our drawing should be, or our music should be, or our business should be, or our body should be.

What we call “aging” is creativity in action—and it’s a really beautiful form of creativity, if we can let go of the idea that aging is a negative thing.

When I released my attachment to who I was supposed to be, it allowed me to stop judging who I actually am. And once I stopped judging who I am, loving myself—and everyone else, at every age—came naturally.

I never expected to be this person. But the best thing I ever did for my mental health was learn to love him anyway. The best thing I ever did was release the attachment I had to what I and the world were supposed to be, so I could fully embrace what I and the world actually are.

I have no idea what the coming years have in store for me—but what I’m sure of is that I wouldn’t want to experience it as anyone else.

What's Going On With Me?

I DUNKED AGAIN THIS WEEK—AT THE BIG AGE OF (almost) 35! 😤

Before this past week, I hadn't dunked a basketball since I was 32 and had convinced myself that the last time was the last time. But for whatever reason, I felt inspired to try when I had the court to myself earlier this week. And even though I barely got it, and even though it was off an alley that was strategically thrown to bounce really close to the rim, I DUNKED! lol

What's even crazier is I have way more dunks after age 30 than I did before 30. Like wayyyyy more. In part because I never trained legs nor truly understood the value of training legs when I was younger. And that makes this week's topic even more substantial, in my opinion, because the commonly accepted narrative is that we get worse at sports as we age but I think a lot more nuance is needed in that regard.

Some of us are just late bloomers who won't hit our fullest potentials until much later than the crowd. And that's precisely why we shouldn't give into the illusion that we could ever age out of something that brings us joy.

We're All Just Babies In My View

The title of this week's newsletter reminded me of a classic—one of my favorite songs from my youth—that also aligns with the subject of aging. You can check it out below.

With love,

Micheal "OG" Sinclair 🏀💜