Don’t you round up my age, mama!
Boy, that makes me angry. And I was already a bit perturbed.
I had just canceled a trip to New York for a conference over concerns about the coronavirus.
I was reporting this to my mother, who thought it was for the best. For once in my life, I agreed with her … until she said something I wasn’t ready for: “You know, Brian, you’re 50 now, and they’re saying older people are at higher risk.”
Wait a minute … WHAT did you just say?!?
Fifty!
FIF-ty!
FIF-@%$&#-TY!!!
Hold on for just 47 seconds, because … I AM NOT 50. I am 47 years of age. Just turned 47. A whipper-snapper, when measured against the age of the galaxies. If you carbon date me – I dare you to try … I fight like a 17-year-old! – I wouldn’t even register. Well, maybe back to caveman days, but still pretty darn young.
Because I’m not 50. You don’t round up age. It’s one of the cardinal rules of decent civilization. It’s actually mentioned in the Bible … I think. In some states, it’s illegal. You can fight chickens, you can marry your pig and you can let your horse do your taxes, but YOU CAN’T ROUND UP AGES!!!
GRRRR! I’m so angry!
When you DO round up, it’s usually just from the decimal point. Like a grade. When a teacher realizes you’re so sad and pathetic that they think you need a shot of encouragement: “Ooof! Brian scored a 48.9% on his algebra test. This kid could really use a morale boost. I’ll just bump that up to a 49. That’s REALLY going to get his spirits flying!”
See!?! That’s how it’s done. And my spirits WERE flying!
But this – 50!!! – made me SO angry!
I don’t think of myself as an angry person. Sometimes crotchety. Most of the time chipper. Occasionally a bit of a curmudgeon, but overall, happy and joyous. I don’t like being angry. Sometimes it just consumes me. Times like this.
Now, proof that my computer is watching me – worried about me! – is that not long after this episode, I sat down at my desk and a story popped up with the headline: “Why It Pays to Be Grumpy and Bad-Tempered.”
“I can get paid for this?!?” I thought.
The story from the BBC told a tale about how the grumps may have it right. How those with short tempers are sometimes the most visionary. Some of the biggest geniuses were also the biggest cranks: Newton, Beethoven, Hugh Grant. And the article went on about a study that looked at whether angry people or sad ones were more creative. Turns out the crank-weasels won out. They were better at producing more original ideas – what the article called “moments of haphazard innovation.”
So, @%$&# equals better?
Part of me felt justified in my anger. I had found the proof I was looking for. I almost called my mother back – “I told you being ticked off would one day get me places! This article says I’m smart like mad ‘ole Beethoven.”
But part of me didn’t want to be right. Realized I was missing the point. Truth is, I want to be Zen-like. That means: having a lot of Zen. (I don’t actually know what “Zen” is, but I hear that a lot from people who look like they’re enjoying life and spending most of it drinking tea in coffee shops. That looks quite nice!)
They’re never angry, and I don’t want to be Mr. Grumpy-pants … even if it makes me smarter. (Don’t take my word for it: The article is the one that compared me to Beethoven.)
Maybe this is what age is teaching me. The wisdom that is finally – maybe! – starting to arrive. That it’s better to let things roll off my shoulders. To see the upsides, even in bad situations, rather than let my emotions get the best of me.
Boy, if I’m learning all this really cool “Zen-like” stuff now, imagine how smart I’m going to be when I REALLY turn 50 … in three @%$&# years, mama!!!