Life Is Such A Sweet Insanity.

In this age of Instagram Influencers and retweets and thumbs up on Facebook, numbers are the name of the game. This is reflective of today’s society; plastic surgeons are thriving as many opt to do things to look as young as possible. Me? Well, I do my part by shaving my head to disguise the fact that I’m bald but that’s probably as far as my vanity goes. I don’t go to the gym on a regular basis, I don’t have tattoos, and I’m no longer focused on building “social collateral”.

As a middle aged gay man in America, I’ve moved to that point in life where I’m essentially invisible or cloaked to many. The gay is a young person’s game. Young gay pilots flying big airplanes gather the follower numbers on the social media outlets. Big bearded, worked out men gather the same. Me? I’m just a quiet nut job who more geek than anything, shaves every morning, and flies airplanes for fun. Some would surmise my comments as competition, but it’s actually pure observation. I have no need to try to turn back time or be something I’m not.

Quite frankly, I’m content with being cloaked in today’s society.

In the short lived television series “Century City” (CBS, 2004), there was an episode that featured a very young looking boy-band that sued one of their members when they no longer wanted to engage in youth-enhancing procedures to look like a boy band. In reality they were 75 years old (though they looked to be in their 30s) and the one member had grown tired of being something he wasn’t. Again, a show that never found its footing, but spoke to society through storytelling.

I was recently watching a video of Paula Cole’s “I Believe In Love”. Originally filmed in the late 1990s, she looks and sounds great. YouTube suggested a live version from a recent performance; it’s 20 years later and Paula looks like she’s aged a little bit, because she has! The video is enjoyable, she sounds good, and the performance was solid. I was surprised at the number of comments of how “she looks like a grandmother” and “why is she letting herself look so old?”

She’s allowing herself to age gracefully. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Now, I’m not against anyone doing whatever they need to do to feel comfortable in their own skin. I might not understand their decision but it’s ultimately none of my business as to what they’re doing with their own bodies. It’s when someone says, “you should grow your beard back” or “have you ever considered doing something about the wrinkles around your eyes?” to me that I get cranky.

I’m happy with who I am, what I look like, and how I’m living my life. I want everyone to be happy. Allow me to be happy.

At 25 pounds overweight with no ink and no outstanding features like piercing blue eyes or anything, I’m very content at being “cloaked”, especially in the gay community.

As a quick aside, I totally get that American women have it a hundred times worse than men my age when it comes to physical appearance expectations. Just be happy. Just be you. You will always have my support.

I find comfort in the structure of following established rules. Some find this surprising about me, as there are times that I show a rebellious streak, but it’s actually rare for me to deliberately ignore established rules. I cross the street at established crosswalks. I don’t lump our trash and recyclables together. And when leaving the nearby ‘L’ platform, I always use the designated exits instead of barging through one of the Emergency Exit doors.

At times I think my husband is amused by this and at others times he finds it incredibly frustrating. It’s usually the latter when we’re downtown in a snowstorm and he wants to dart across the street and then he ends up waiting for me to walk half a block to cross with the light and then make my way back to him.

To be fair, there are times when I don’t follow the rules. I rarely drive the speed limit on the expressway and if I’m cycling along the side streets of the neighborhoods I don’t stop at the stop signs; I usually look both ways but still cruise through. On the main thoroughfares I stop for lights and I won’t cross against them unless I’m certain it’s safe to do so.

As I said, it’s all about the comfort and structure of following established protocols. It’s just what I do and I figure it’s the simplest way to get through life.

My husband thinks I should have been a Boy Scout.

I deactivated my Twitter account this morning. Though Twitter really wanted me to stay around, I pushed through all the prompts and said “yes, I want to deactivate my account”. I then deleted the random password for the account out of my stored passwords. Twitter will allow me to reactivate my account within 30 days, but because I don’t know the password and I’ve removed my phone number from the account, it would take a couple of extra steps to turn things on and I did that on purpose.

I am amazed by the amount of relief I feel by this simple act of deleting the account. For the past year or so I have desperately tried to steer my Twitter timeline away from the dumpster fire of Twitter: I’d focus on tech and aviation, stay connected with online friends I’ve met across the world, and have a way to keep tabs on late breaking news, though in all honesty, over the past couple of years Twitter has become a very unreliable source of information. Since the company has little demonstrated interest in controlling bots and other sources of purposeful disinformation, it’s not like Twitter has become nothing more than a shouting match, ball of chaos, and time sink.

I’m fully aware Twitter is a symptom, not the problem, of what plagues our society today.

In full disclosure, I do still have a small, protected Twitter account. I have less than a dozen followers on that account and I follow less than three dozen people. As I go through the effort of improving focus in my life, I’m not allowing “endless scrolling” or “infinity pools” apps on my phone. If I can’t scroll to the end, it’s not allowed on the phone. I want to be present in the moment. However, another disclosure, Instagram is allowed on my phone (with it’s infinite scrolling) because I do like sharing photos. This morning I moved my account to protected status as well.

I know a LOT of people that thrive on social media and the feedback they receive through the various channels. I totally get it; the dopamine hit gives you a high like some illegal drugs and sometimes we just want some applause in our life. I remember how that felt back in my radio days, when I’d hear whispers of folks identifying me in public after seeing me in a television commercial or on stage promoting the radio station. It’s a good feeling. But like when I walked away from radio nearly 20 years ago, or when I turned down the callback for “Big Brother”, I just don’t need that hit anymore. I’m not worried about losing social collateral.

I’m excited about real life.