Rage, Don’t Age

I’m 60 — And With Each Passing Day Getting Closer to the End Than the Beginning

And I’m trying hard not to go gentle into that good night.

This morning, I read an excellent article by Joe Duncan titled It Took Me a Year to Make Nearly $10,000 a Month on Medium. I recommend the article to you, my friend, not because Duncan reveals technical secrets or templates to write viral articles on Medium.

Rather, Duncan teaches us to take chances, be authentic, dig deep into “…the depths of myself, unearthing the dark stuff we don’t usually talk about and put it into a story.”

Joe Duncan is a successful writer on Medium with almost 11,000 followers as of this writing. He became successful by being authentically Joe Duncan.

Make no mistake. It helps a lot that he writes so very well! But Duncan draws a substantial audience to his stories because he writes authentically about his lived experience.

And because he is unafraid to explore the sometimes difficult but fascinating subjects that inform his personality.

So today, I am taking his advice

I’m writing about some dark and painful stuff. It’s authentically me, and I have a knot in my stomach just thinking about launching this into the universe. But I’m going to do it because I think Joe Duncan is right.

I may not get one person to read this story, and I’m okay with that. I certainly don’t expect to make $1, let alone $10,000.

But what I will get by publishing this brief story is the courage to be authentic and vulnerable again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

If you read my story and are inspired to become a more authentic writer, please read Joe Duncan’s story and thank him. I’m just standing on his shoulders.

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. — Dylan Thomas

Until this year, my birthdays carried very little significance for me

I didn’t get outrageously drunk or stoned when I turned 21. I had gotten most of that behavior out of my system by the time I was 20. I was focused on completing my university degree and getting accepted into graduate school. By the time I was 23, I had decided to abstain from drugs and alcohol completely, for reasons that will be evident later.

My 30th birthday came and went without fanfare unless my mother’s self-referential note on the occasion (“Oh my GOD — you’re 30! What does this mean for me???) counts.

I had a Bachelor’s degree, a Master’s degree, and I was ABD (all but dissertation) towards my P.H.D. Life seemed to be progressing on schedule.

I was already making more money than my father, which was terribly embarrassing because I believed he worked harder and deserved much more than I did. He was proud and told me, so I worked even harder.

My 40th was just another workday

I was on track in terms of my career, moving full speed ahead, just 3 years away from achieving my goal of becoming the CEO of a smallish-sized (200+ employees) organization. I loved my family, I loved the people I worked with, and I couldn’t wait to get up each morning to lead us to be better that day than we were the day before.

Outside as opposed to inside

From the outside, I was the “hard-driving” nice guy who was going places.

On the inside, I was battling an illness that I was sure I could keep under control.

You see, I had inherited the chronic deep depression that ran through my mother’s side of the family. My grandmother had undergone hospitalization and shock-therapy treatments. My mother suffered her whole life with depression, which she attempted to control with alcohol.

But within me, I kept dammed up, a growing reservoir of depression and anxiety. I knew it was there, and I knew it was powerful, but I was confident that I could keep it at bay. After all, I had made it this far in pretty good shape, right?

I refused to believe that mental illness was something I would ever have to deal with.

My 50th was just another challenging but fulfilling workday

I received some funny cards about “The Big 5–0” and a few introductions to proctologists. But the day itself was ordinary because my life at that moment felt so fulfilled and extraordinary.

I had a happy family. I had wealth. I was 6 years into my role as CEO in a prospering organization. I had assembled a first-class team around me, fine-tuned our organizational engine, and we were over-achieving each quarter.

It seemed nothing could go wrong.

I had a major life “event” at 53, but not because of my age

One October day, triggered by nothing in particular and everything all at once, I could no longer contain the negative emotions. The dam crumbled, and 53 years of pent up depression and anxiety burst forth.

I disintegrated emotionally. I was physically immobilized and psychologically crippled by the experience. I had managed to keep this struggle compartmentalized in a corner of my mind within me for 53 years, all while relentlessly working and achieving. But suddenly, I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t even count backward from 10. I was not in control of anything.

My family fell apart. I lost my job. I lost my savings. I lost my friends and everything else that had value in my life. I lost just about everything I loved and owned, seemingly overnight.

My every other thought was of suicide. I had a plan, I had the method, and I had the date set. Suffice it to say that the only thing that felt good at that time was that I had permitted myself to end it all (perhaps I’ll find the courage to write about how I came out of that dark place, but I’ll leave that for another day).

With the help of several excellent therapists, daily Prozac, and an occasional Valium, I began the work of rebuilding my life, minus my family, friends, a steady job, a 6-figure income and benefits, and the optimism of my youth.

It’s been a long, slow slog. Life today is not at all what I had imagined it would be 20 years ago.

This year, I turned 60

I could spend my time being angry, regretful, and vengeful. I could spend my time wallowing in self-pity. I could wake up each morning and become morbid and depressed about being one day closer to the abyss and angry about how unfair life has been to me.

I could wake up each morning and worry about whether this ache or that pain portends something medically serious, or if it’s normal to feel like I got hit by a car when I get out of bed in the morning.

But no. I don’t have time left for any of that

Instead, I look at each new day as an opportunity to reinvent myself and to create something new in the world.

I read a lot.

I write on Medium.

I create digital tools like spreadsheets and mobile apps.

I help people over 50 who want to become solopreneurs find their purpose, so that the second half of their lives can be as fulfilled, (or even more!) than the first half.

I give myself permission to go down YouTube rabbit holes to discover new talent like Puddles Pity Party, or listen to Grateful Dead live recordings, or dive deep into the game of Chess.

Yes, Chess!

I played a lot as a kid, but somehow I stopped finding time to play during my adult years. Now, I spend time studying the game every day, and in the evenings, I play online at Chess.com (I’m @Crstolopz on chess.com if you want to play).

I have had to reboot my life, with none of the privileges and advantages I had when I started. My hardware may be arthritic, but my software has been updated, and it’s humming away nicely now, thank you.

It’s good to be alive.

Suicide be damned

I don’t think about suicide. I want to live. I want to live fully every single moment of the day.

And when I do take that final step into the abyss, I want to go on believing that I spent my last years being as authentic as possible, being as kind and helpful as possible, creating as much as possible, and regretting only that I didn’t have just one more day to do it all again.

May I give you a “Thank You” gift for reading my work? Download my FREE Stories Management Tool for Medium writers. It’s your choice of an Excel or Google Sheets spreadsheet that will help you organize your stories from the first draft through publication. I hope that you will love it.