ANOTHER VICTIM OF AGE
or The Secret life of Walter Mitty
I have always enjoyed a rich fantasy life. As an only child
growing up on a farm I was accustomed to being alone, either playing or doing
daily chores.
Daydreaming, an older child’s version of “make believe”, was
a way to combat boredom and become more than I was. Picking up stones from the
driveway and batting them over imaginary fences with a piece of plaster lathing
I became Mickey Mantle. Singing my way through five chicken coops while I
gathered eggs transformed me into another Frank Sinatra. (I have no idea what
my singing may have done to the egg production.). My heroic accomplishments in
the first 18 years of life were nothing short of amazing. That small farm boy
from South Jersey became the hero to fans all over America. And as I made my way
through the years ahead my daydreams followed, adapting themselves to the
changing circumstances. I became a star football player in college in spite of
my size, a surviving doctor in a plane crash who saved the lives of other
survivors, a famous artist living in NYC, or a victim of amnesia wandering
around the country trying to survive, to name just a few of my fantasies. My
retreat into these make believe worlds usually occurred when I was driving
alone in the car for hours at a time, lying in bed unable to sleep, or waking
up in the middle of the night worrying about ridiculous non-existent problems
that only arise in the dark hours of the night and early morning.
I choose to believe that occasional daydreaming is a normal
and common mental exercise that everyone engages in at one time or another. I have no interest in learning
otherwise. In fact I believe my occasional forays into the world of make
believe have served me well, improving my psyche and mental health, in addition
to fending off those useless night time worries. But to my great dismay, for
the past few years it has become increasingly difficult to retreat into these
fantasy worlds, and I’m convinced it has to do with my age.
Regardless of the absurd plots, all of my daydreams have had
an element of possibility to them, albeit quite miniscule, and they were all
age appropriate. Now, approaching my 79th birthday, it is more
challenging to come up with a heroic plot for someone this age. Oh I still do
it, but far less often, and with more modest accomplishments. This is one affect
of ageing that I never anticipated. I feel blind-sided by it.
I shared this with my wife, telling her I was thinking of
writing about the diminishing fantasy life in the 8th decade. She
quickly suggested that I avoid using the word fantasy, since it has acquired
some carnal implications. I told her I was aware of that and planned to refer
to “Walter Mitty” moments. She gave me a blank look, clearly having no idea who
Walter Mitty was. When I explained he was a character who was always
daydreaming in a short story by James Thurber and made famous portrayed by the
late Danny Kaye in the movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, she offered that
most people would not know that, and said I was really showing my age. Wow,
that really helped.
