NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #32

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 79^th 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 8^th 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.