Who is still celebrating there?
The way to the 40th birthday
Monday, 12.27 pm From: Mark Kuntz To: Silke Pfersdorf Subject: Heroes like me
I always had a precise idea of what a man of 40 would look like. After all, there are these photos from the award ceremony in 1954, when "we" became sensationally world champions against Hungary. Here you can see really well-established men: Medium-sized grown, slightly bent in the posture, they stroke their black madness from the furrowed forehead, exhausted, but happy about what they have done. I did not become world champion. Exhausted: yes. Happy with what has been done: occasionally, but much more worried about what I still have to do.
Tuesday, 8.20 am From: Silke Pfersdorf To: Mark Kuntz Re: Heroes Like Me Subject: Do not know yourself anymore
You might have needed that as a girl as well - a bunch of 40-year-old women who look and think: That's how I want to be. Already to get used to the fact that there is such an age at all. My mother was 30 at some point, from then on I did not count any more. Alt is old after all. Below also ran. Today I wonder if younger women also look through one. Although strangely, I do not feel so far away from them. Internally, I mean. Somewhere in the Twenties we all stop, I read. A bit of knowledge and experience come to it, but in feeling is supposedly not much. An aging director once told me that for many years he can not imagine being over 25 years old. And in the morning sometimes, completely appalled, asks who the face belongs in the mirror. Whether everyone experiences this at some point?
Thursday, 10:43 pm Re: Do not know yourself again Subject: felt like a long time
In the case of men, there is the theory of "collagen shock": for decades, they keep blindingly, until at some point overnight the connective tissue collapses in the face, and then you do not recognize yourself again. This catastrophe occurred pretty much in July 2000 for me. I know that so well because my new face is documented in a photo where I hold my four-week-old son in my lap around six o'clock in the morning, or rather it looks like I'm holding onto him. In the early morning, I had always been prone to a degree of gagging, but what I needed to see was more like a 78-year-old Mongol just falling asleep over his eleventh grandson than a proud, young father. My "long-term experience" is rather 35 than 25. That's because I've never felt young to be particularly attractive. As for many others, at the age of 25 I was not even able to predict the end of my studies, my future career was more than uncertain. My prevailing attitude to life was: nothing, nothing, nothing gets. Since mid 30 I felt much better, with a steady job, a steady relationship, a steady income. Serious member of the association of German middle class, so to speak. A feeling that wears off a bit. The average biography in Germany is only planned until the end of the thirties, then you should have arrived professionally and family-oriented. And then you should finish the box quietly and solidly. Fundamental changes are no longer planned. You have to take care of that yourself. Which is always very exhausting.
Friday, 8.55 am Re: perceived long-term Subject: Bergfest
But wonderful, dear Mark. Every change shows me that there is a hell of a lot of what I have in front of me. Bad enough that it obviously needs this proof, I just noticed. But as you get older, you become generally more inflexible. The desire to regain his composure subsides. Also the curiosity. If we moved earlier, every new apartment was usually also an improvement, but from 40 onwards it is apparently also established in it. In the meantime, after parades, I often hear phrases like: "Here they carry me out with their feet to the front." To blanch, the thought. That nothing should come there. And if sometimes I have to force myself to change, I will drag her into my life. Because I am afraid of the momentum of monotony and routine. And they exist. The power that time, without a trace on the soul (unfortunately not on the face!) Passes. That the minutes and hours sink into a puddle, in which one can not distinguish one week from the other. By the way, can you remember every holiday: the first days you feel every moment. Then you suddenly settled in, know where you go to have breakfast and go swimming, and time begins to race. Because nothing new happens and you just let everything run. Terrible idea that this happens to the rest of your life. By the way, that's what I mean about my 40th birthday.Birthday really understood: that at the latest with this event was statistically Bergfest.
Sunday, 11:16 pm Re: Bergfest Subject: Anniversary
Dear Silke, how did you actually celebrate your 40th birthday? Was it a glittering party, was it deep depression? Tell me.
Monday, 11:09 am Re: Anniversary Subject: Zero Rounds
A dark point in my life, dear Mark. Not because of the 40, but because in spite of full-bodied announcements I still have not celebrated big, even though it is always big celebrates, and now I really have no desire, but I think I would have, and then I will find again, me really does not have to be anything, at my age. After all, there is something good about it: Those who can give a lecture on what they must and must do, relying on more experience, will be less, and their own ears more worn out in this respect. So there was no celebration, at least not right. There was one night before, in which I slept remarkably well, and one morning, when I woke up happy and confident. The night had brought me neither nightmares nor the Malaises of an emerging mid-life crisis and certainly not the feeling? unlike 30, when I clichédly ran to the nearest barber and missed a short haircut - to make any signs. Let's face it, time is enough for one's face, bosom, stomach and bottom. That's enough of signs. In the morning there was a breakfast with girlfriends, some of whom did not even understand that I was 40 ("No, honestly, I never would have thought"), and others pretended that they did not know it. Women are not always mare, I thought. And another roll taken. In the evening I was eating, with my husband, our two children and my parents, who have demolished at least 500 kilometers for this day. Then I had wine in front of me and a lot of memory. The zero rounds before: ten years - "From now on, only two digits," my father had mused. I do not remember his saying about the 20th, just the card for the 25th ("A quarter of a century"), the 30th came a loving "are now not quite dewy". At 40, I'm probably not really anymore, but nobody dares to tell you anymore. "You do not look that way yet," it says. So old, you could complete. After midnight I stood in front of the mirror and thought: Yesterday was celebrated, but from today you have to live with it. At the next zero you are 50. Unimaginable. The same thing I had thought ten years before. Could it be that women often come up with such thoughts in front of the mirror and men when looking at their careers and their balance?
Tuesday, 10:41 pm Re: Zero Rounds Subject: All at once?
Account balance and professional position - these are all topics from the generation before us. And these issues should be taken seriously, Silke. We all sit between all the chairs: what our parents gave us, and what we thought up for ourselves. Of course, I would like to go the modern way: to live my own life, to be a modern father to my child, to be a sovereign, reliable and adventurous partner to my wife and at the same time to maintain a solid account management. Yes, I would like that. And I would like to get out of the shower again around 10.30pm, do something different than usual, check in front of the mirror, if I can walk like that, and then step out into the cool night. All at once is probably not right, right?
Thursday, 10.33 pm Re: All at once? Subject: All at once!
Now only everything goes at once, dear Mark. So many completely different life stages will probably no longer play from 40, one after the other, I mean. But you do not suspect that until you reach this milestone. With 20 you live forever. At least you think so. Everything in front of you, the whole ocean, you just have to swim. To the right, to the left, in front, back - no matter. Let yourself be driven off by a few winds, now and then fight against the waves, but yours is freedom. Above all, the freedom to change direction here and there. It's over. You are still swimming, but in a current that you actually know where it leads. Nobody asks you anymore, if there's something else. At 40 you need to know where to go, that's what they expect from you. Rearrange, carpenter's workshop instead of desk? Sheep breed in New Zealand? Forget it. You've got yourself entangled in a web of commitments, relationships, and inertias, and if it got you to leave, there would be horrified looks. At 40 you are not thinking about retraining and a new beginning. At the most you think: Well, you are still out of your 20 years. In fact, sometimes I feel that kind of resignation. That you stop moving your arms while swimming, to let the flow completely. This feeling makes me furious, to surrender to everything, but it stops me sometimes. This well-being-happy-thought, everything is not so bad, and anyway, now count only the children anyway.August Strindberg once described how he entered his youth room from earlier on as an established man ("I rushed straight into my youth, felt how the whole unknown future weighed on me and stalked me uncannily ..."). And then he says: "Here I sat and had everything behind me, everything, everything, everything! The fight, the victory, the defeats!" Is that too dark now? I'm just like that.
Thursday, 11:57 pm Re: All at once! Subject: Yearlong
I believe that nothing is as mood-dependent as the evaluation of one's own life situation. That was not different with 20, is not it, Silke? Because you do not float so constantly through the life as the queen of the night. There is also the deepest despair, the uncertainty, where to go, the fear of this strangely strange adult world with all its demands and obligations. One often thought: I can never do that! The anthroposophists divide our existence into a life-year-old. Each is characterized by certain characteristics and requirements. I do not know if a new section really starts every seven years, but I find the idea very comforting. Now I live in a phase that is more of a responsibility: I have to look after my son, get involved in a different way at work, and we all know that a long relationship is not just fun. That's just how it is. And that's good. It would be absurd for me to seek personal freedom in such a phase. That's just not at the moment. And more importantly, a new phase is guaranteed. I am sure that I will have a great time again from the age of 50 onwards. These 40s are quite an existence years. The power slows down, but the demands are more and more. In the job, the first younger ones show up, maybe the children start to kick you off, and your parents get really old. Once you've got through that, you've probably learned as much about life as you did in the 30 years before. And then you can take care of yourself more. I think the 50s will be my decade - when I finally stop shit smoking. I think I'll get out of it again. Maybe with a novel. At some point, as a well-tanned mid-fifties, I sit in talk shows and always answer the same question: "Is not it unusual to write his first book at 50?" "Oh, you know," I'll say, "there are such phases." The anthroposophists speak of Lebensjahrsiebten ... "In your mail on your 40th Birthday you have so casually spoken of the signs of the time, one to the satisfaction written in face, belly, legs and buttocks. Human, Silke. Would not our year of life be one in which women like you could finally stop worrying about it?
Sunday, 10:34 pm Re: Lebensjahrsiebe Subject: Expectations
Of course, it's the inner values that count. Heart and brain and not the butt. O God, Mark, are we living on the same planet? But the question of whether 40 should not end with the monkey theater, strongly reminds me of Billy Graham: "Yes, my brothers and sisters, the world's conduct is evil, so let's abjure the unholy values then ..." Or so similar. To make one thing clear: Beauty is not just a woman's business. Unfortunately, we are unfortunately permanently surrounded by the claims of others on the feminine appearance. Great if you have a bit of a gripe or a kick in the women's football national team - but could not she make a little more of herself? On a single quality you can hardly rest as a woman, they always want more. Because of your brain, as a woman you will certainly never be considered competitive by other women - at most because of your legs and smooth cheeks. A friend of mine who had just matured to 40 had a man of the same age at her side when they met two ladies of about thirty in a pub who obviously knew their guy. From a distance, the girls seemed slightly tense, because the guy with attachment was there. But as they got closer, of course, they could gauge my girlfriend's age. And were from one moment to the next best mood. Other league, the optic nerves have reported. No competition. Just for a bit more life in the face. This is women's everyday life. My husband understands that, recently. Ever since he flipped through one of the lifestyle magazines that, exceptionally, are all about men. To their appearance and possible measures of improvement. He saw washboard bellies, pithy muscles, firm asses.
Each picture a silent indictment, an invitation to compare. Discover the possibilities. My husband has become very small, he claims anyway. Now he finally knew how women feel. Men like him, however, still go back to dinner in the evening. Women get bulimia. Nevertheless, I do not want to be 20 anymore. At 30, I'm not so sure. Was not bad, actually. Where a further ten years more at least the self-esteem are very beneficial, I agree with you. Also in terms of sex. Gone are the days of cramps, distortions, and fake orgasms. At a certain age you no longer want to satisfy others, but first and foremost yourself.You no longer feel the breath of a jammed upbringing, the uncertainties have dissolved into pleasure, you trust yourself and what you feel. What irritates me, however, again and again: people expect nothing more from you, although you are getting older. Obviously you do not have to get better, not well read, not more important. Since they are more oriented to the status symbols: my house, my yacht, my horse. So you are responsible for the true demands of your own person. Also for those who could not be satisfied. Incidentally, I also wanted to have written my novel by 40. He still lurking in the drawer with lousy seven chapters. But I'm comforted now, with the anthroposophists: It's not my life year. Maybe we both sit in the same talk show. I am not going to ask why the first-born comes so late, but not the anthroposophists, Mark. I'll say, "There was just so much else to do before."
