Thinking Out Loud: Clint and Toby Were Right, Don’t Let the Old Man In
The never-ending battle between us and time
I’m not sure which direction this one is going to go. However, I’d like to say right up front that I hate those blogs which dwell on personal, meaningless subjects (“I couldn’t decide on plaid or striped socks today”). At the same time, once in a while we experience something that, although it is intensely personal, everyone on the planet can identify with it. Or maybe learn from it. I’m viewing this Thinking Out Loud in that vein.
The sequence of events was: 1. Sunday, I had a personal challenge and beat it down. 2. Monday, Toby Keith lost the good fight but left us with a ton of songs, one of which helps guide my life. 3. This morning, Saturday, I got the call that a good friend had died. His had been such a nasty battle, part of me is glad it’s over.
This is not going to be a downer blog. It’s just us talking about the absurdities of the way life is constructed (bright beginning, often a dismal end) and how a percentage of it is under our control. However, too many of us fail to exercise that control.
First, if you’re under the age of 40 and its Sunday or later in the week, go watch Super Bowl coverage. You won’t relate to this subject. However, I’m betting I don’t have many kids reading these words. Gray is probably a universal color here so most of you are starting to hear the clock ticking. Some of you, those who are well established as gray dogs, as I am, can’t keep the clock out of our minds. These days it feels as if we skip every other year and weeks are only three days long. Everything is happening too damn fast.
I hate to admit, but by most standards, I’m experienced in the practice of being old. However, I’ve pretty much won the lottery in the health/mental department. Lots of creaks and groans and a few parts showing their mileage, but still pretty damn healthy, mentally and physically. However, like every high mileage individual there are some parts of life that really bear watching so they don’t become a problem. That exact thing came to the fore during our household’s recent month-long battle with Covid.
Covid pretty much sucked the energy out of us and we found it really easy to say “To hell with it…” and flop into a chair and watch reruns. Essentially, it accelerated our age. As we got deeper into the month and the sickness began to ease off, the easier we found it to put off anything requiring effort. This sucked me into a psychologically defining moment where I saw how easy it is to let life slip away from us.
When I finally got my health sh*t together, I hadn’t flown for six weeks, which is something of a record. However, I have students coming in next week and I can’t logically fly students if any rust has grown on my own skills. I began to get nervous. However, rather than running out to the airport to do some rust removal, I invented excuses that kept me home. And I knew they were excuses. What the hell was I doing!?
I was running out of time before students arrived, so I forced myself out to the airport. Per usual the windsock was straight across the runway but only at about 10 mph. If there’s one thing a Pitts Special is good at, it’s handling crosswinds and I’ve played that game thousands of times. However, as I looked at the sock, I began asking myself, “Should I? Am I good enough right now? It’s been six weeks!” I’ve never been a wildly confident pilot, regardless of the time I’ve logged (11k +/-) and how much I fly. So, what do I do?
I pre-flighted the airplane and pushed it out the hangar. Then, I walked to the edge of the apron so I could more clearly see the windsock. It was still playful, but definitely daunting. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. Then I did something I couldn’t believe I was doing. I pushed it back in the hangar and closed the door. My confidence wasn’t there. I told myself I’d come back out later in the afternoon and see if things had calmed down.
When I returned and was driving down the ramp, the wind was still out there teasing me. Maybe a little worse. I parked in the middle of the ramp and studied the sock. Sometimes it would wiggle around behind the wing a little, which tailwheel pilots should try to avoid. Should I do this? I was not a happy camper. To be honest, I was disappointed in myself.
Then I heard a voice inside my head (a common occurrence for most of us) and it said “Dammit! You’re letting the old man in. Stop that! Give in to this and age will own you. You’ll have opened the flood gates to your downfall.”
That voice was so obvious, it was almost frightening. It may have Clint’s or Toby’s voice. I don’t know.
The airplane came out of the hangar and 8PB and I had a terrifically fun time shooting landings. Yeah, the wind was screwing with us, but I beat it down. No sweat! When I taxied up and blasted the tail around to line up with the hangar door, I felt 30 years younger. I made no effort to get out. I just sat there in that form-fitting little cockpit for a while and enjoyed the feeling. I was back! I had chased the old man out the door!
As the mileage piles up, we all feel time eating away at our energy, our confidence, our very being on a daily basis. And most of the time, assuming we aren’t really sick, we know what’s happening, but we give in to it anyway. We become lazy, when we don’t need to be. We’re just taking the easy way out. Some years back, Toby and Clint got together and Toby wrote the song when Eastwood was starting on another movie at 88 years of age. Clint said his motto was “Don’t Let the Old Man In” and Toby put it to music.
I faced my old man challenge on Sunday. Toby died on Monday.
When I heard we’d lost him, I instantly remembered when, barely a month earlier, gaunt and obviously ravaged by cancer, he sang the song at an awards show. It means more to me now than it did the first time I heard it. Listen to it. He’s talking to every damned one of us on how to handle time. Actually, it’s a good way to handle life in general. TOBY
Use his motto on a daily basis and you’ll be surprised how much more you get done and much better you feel about yourself. bd
A NOTE: We lost Tom Atwood this morning. 70 years old, plus or minus. A close friend, terrific editor, terrific everything and one of the half dozen most intelligent people I’ve ever known. I’m being honest, when I say that every sentence I write, I feel him looking over my shoulder and I’m doing my best to not make mistakes. Well, buddy, at least your ordeal is over. Peace is now yours. You won’t be forgotten. Take my word for that.
Another one written personally for me (and everyone else). The exact same stuff has been going on here, except the details are all different.
We're what the people who study this call "superagers" - I don't know anyone your age who does the stuff you do, Budd, and I don't know anyone my age who does the stuff I do. But we keep plugging along.
So very right on the money. I just survived selling my business, a major crash resulting in spinal surgery , a bout with cancer and a wife of 50 years with liver disease. Same process.... sit down and take or fight back all your strength. Thanks for saying it so well!!!