Captain Asshat
I never put much thought into getting old. I mean I understand that reaching certain milestone ages is a privilege many would do anything for, but outside of my giblets hitting the toilet water due to gravity, I didn’t know what to expect. I understand the little bits like hair turning grey, belly poking out a bit, or how after 40 your ass crack needs to be seen for some reason. What I wasn’t expecting is doing ridiculous things and then laughing at what a prick I can be.
Over the weekend Leslie and our youngest boy Joe (17) decided to head up to the foothills to chase trout. Bless their hearts Leslie and Joe aren’t what I’d call rushers. Leslie can’t leave the house until everything is in ship shape and Joe is on Joe’s time. We’re at that time of year where daylight is short and I’m watching the clock tick away feeling myself getting worked up. Mind you we didn’t have a specific time or anything. I just happened to be ready first so I was judging every move I didn’t deem worthy of wasting time when we could be fishing.
I’ve recently learned that getting me worked up isn’t productive. Don’t get me wrong, I still do it, but I keep the unproductive thoughts inside my ole freckled dome to keep the peace. That is reserved for inside my house though, outside it’s fair game, and the older I get the more the intrusive thoughts win. The silver lining here is I can identify when I’m being a turd and better yet get a chuckle out of it from time to time.
When Leslie and Joe were both ready to go, I figured after drive time we’d have maybe an hour to fish before the sun dipped behind the mountains. Knowing this I drove a tad faster than usual, which for me was a blazing 10mph above the speed limit. I’m still getting passed like I’m not moving. I scan to see the vehicle types and license plates before blurting out generalized statements about yuppies, Californians, and dorks with squeaky clean trucks rigged for apocalyptic survival that have probably never seen a logging road. It would be one thing if I was slow pokin’ around in the fast lane. I’m not. I know I tend to go at my pace and stay in the appropriate lane. To add to the “I’m getting old narrative,” it sure seems like every inconsiderate turd driver possible has fled their homes states they voted into a hell hole has come to Colorado for mountains, sunshine, and houses no one can afford. Get off my lawn damn it!
Once we get through Berthoud it should be smooth sailing right up to the banks of Carter Reservoir. As the elevation rises, I can feel my blood pressure drop and on the water bliss is inching near. Then we get stuck behind a dude in tights riding his bike on the damn road. Smack dab in the middle of the damn thing too. I’ll give this skin tight clothes wearing exercise aficionado some credit he was cooking on his ten speed. In fact, the dude was going so fast I couldn’t find the right time to pass him. Guard rails on each side of the road, double yellow line, etc… I was stuck.
I did the speed up to pass thing a couple times, but as soon as I’d goose it, I’d see a vehicle coming from the other direction. By now I’m getting really worked up and giving Leslie and Joe the play by play. Neither gets worked up like I do, so although Leslie is acknowledging what I’m saying, she’s checked out and completely understands I’m arguing with myself. Like a total nutbag I’m yelling at a dude that can’t hear me as he’s enjoying a weekend bike ride.
It reaches a breaking point, and I decide I can’t sacrifice another minute of fishing time to ride behind MC butt cheeks on his huffy. I goose it with the stubbornness of 5 AARP members. I’m going damn it, if there’s a car coming the other way, they better be willing to submit to my grey bearded aggressiveness. I couldn’t have picked a worse time to have a mental breakdown as I started passing him as the road curved, with white knuckles I execute the turn like an angling Ricky Bobby and blurt out “can you believe that asshole” as I dart back into my own lane. About halfway through my Days of Thunder move I knew I was in the wrong. Luckily no one was in danger *thank you baby Jesus for no one coming in the other lane…. It got quiet for a second then I looked over at Leslie and both of us started cracking up at the ridiculousness that is me.
I guess that’s what I’m getting at, getting older comes with some less fortunate truths, but it also comes with many powerful progressions of self and mindfulness. When I was younger, I had the weight of expectation and perception that people care. Everyone is too damn busy directing their own movie to get a rip about mine… I felt less than, different, tribe-less in a way. I spent decades wondering what normal felt like. An outside looking in kind of deal. Now I understand in polite society I’m more of a stubborn thorn bush than a pretty potted plant, for some damn reason I love that. I also love that I don’t have to hide when I know I’ve recently been a bonified asshat and can and will take the time to have a good belly laugh at my own expense.
Stay fat and sassy this holiday season folks!
