Turning 45

Thursday, I turned 45, what I consider halftime of my life. I figure, people in my family tend to live long, and since I’ve been an athlete most of my life, maybe I could add a few years more, just for good measure. I’m trying to be optimistic and imagine myself living with less stress, and do more of what I enjoy. Besides, my grandmother turned 85 yesterday, so that helps, too.

So what changed the last year? Man, where do I start?

First of all, I chose to live more relaxed life. I had a major crossroads in my life, and decided to go it alone. In the vacuum, much work came, and many blessings. More sports to cover, more projects to do, more sports to help. The last eight months have been a massive crossroads, where I took steps to get where I want to be, to be more productive, and appreciate what I have more.

You go through other changes, too. For example, it’s not as important to kick some young buck’s behind on the court, as long as you don’t royally embarrass yourself in the process. Then again, that’s probably because I can’t do what I used to, and who needs to be beating his chest around at my age, anyway? Perhaps it’s time to do something else, too. And who needs the agitation. I think I have enough testosterone, at any rate.

On the other hand, I feel more compassion for young athletes who go through their mood swings and tantrums. As a father of two teenaged boys, I see things on the back end now, and realize that, with all their athletic gifts, fame and impending success, they’re still just people. That’s a firm lesson we’ve learned from the world’s greatest athletes, from Michael Jordan to the latest casualty, Tiger Woods, not to mention the arrogance of a Gilbert Arenas. I realize, through my new eyes, that having one strength, no matter how superhuman, still does not release one from the bonds of mortality, or the frailty of humanity. On the contrary, it brings it into even bigger focus.

At 45, you have the advantage of standing on the peak of your accomplishments, and looking down the valley of what you may do next.

You learn to let go, and realize that what you accumulate isn’t really what matters. Jesse Owens once said, “Trophies corrode. Friends gather no dust.” In trying to be the best, baddest, most competitive, numero uno, what do we really gain if, along the way, we cause unnecessary hurts that ripple out into ill feelings?

At 45, I’ve watched my sons grow by tremendous leaps this year. My older son Vincent went to college, and is finding his way through life, seeking the direction he wants to take. My younger son Daniel, is now team captain of his high school team, and has to play both point guard and center just to keep them competitive. Their transformation from youngsters to young men is breathtaking. I well up with pride whenever I look at them. They can do things that were physically impossible for them just months before, and they keep leaping from one amazing deed to another, even though they do make the occasional misstep, we know it’s not life-threatening, and definitely not the end of the world. I’m amazed that someone like me can have such extraordinary sons.

Of course, there are some downsides, too, like more and more people calling you sir. I don’t mind the extra respect. But frankly, it’s quite distracting on the basketball court. At the same time, I appreciate the chance to teach, pass on knowledge, and create better attitudes in the younger people around me. And funny, I appreciate older people more. (Well, that’s probably because there are less and less of them as time goes by.)

Down the road, I’m starting to think of the trail I’ll leave behind, of what people will say and think when they look back on my life and career. I never enjoyed being put in a box, and that’s an attitude I’ve tried to impart to my children, most people I’ve talked to, from a Turkish mountain climber to some of the world’s greatest basketball players, to our most iconic athletes, generally realize that there’s more to life than pushing your body to the limit every day. Older athletes learn how to use their will for something else, looking outward.

The most amazing thing about being older is that you have less fear of failure. I have enough scars and experiences to be able to really say that what does not kill me makes me stronger. It’ll hurt for a while to falter, to fail, to lose, but I can always get up, and my mind is stronger than before, and will serve me well, no matter what the game of my life is.

And the best part of being older is this: after a while, everybody ends up on your time. You can’t stop Father Time.

Thanks to everyone who remembered.