The Great State of Denial

Yes, I live in the great state of Tennessee, but lately I’ve been spending an increasing amount of time in the great state of Denial. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. As a matter of fact, I kind of like it there. It’s a place where I can do pretty much whatever I want…

As I walked back to the Forney Creek campsite after a late night paddle on Fontana Lake, I expected to crawl into my tent and sleeping bag and drift off to sleep. However, as I crunched though the leaves, I heard a voice: “Dad, is that you?”

Melissa was still awake in her tent. She asked how the paddle was, plus a few follow-up questions. After a minute, John filled in the missing information: “She’s wearing me out! She was worried about you and was about to make me go look for you.”

At first I just chalked Melissa’s worry up to the fact that she’s a caring, sensitive person. And, because she’s like her mother, that’s true. But there was really nothing to be worried about. Paddling at night might get you wet, but it won’t get you killed. And in this case, neither happened. So, why was Melissa worried?

I think it has something to do with my new residence in the state of Denial. Melissa and my wife often worry about me on my outdoor excursions. I think they worry too much, but maybe they have good reason. I’m having trouble acting my age, which is perfectly legal in the state of Denial. I continue to do the same things that I’ve been doing for the past 30 years. In fact, I’m probably doing even more outdoor activities than I used to do, because the clock is ticking. It gets louder and slower with each passing year.

A younger friend of mine has a pre-game mantra that his wife imposed upon him. He must repeat it before every recreation league basketball game: “I’m not 21 anymore. I’m not 21 anymore….” I probably need a similar ritual for the mountains, but it would be more depressing: “I’m not 40 anymore….”

My mind hasn’t fully grasped my new, age-imposed physical limitations. Most guys first notice this on the softball field or basketball court, but it shows up in the mountains, too. You just keep on doing things that you’ve always done, without admitting that you aren’t doing them as well or as quickly as you used to. This puts you into the realm of behavior that keeps your friends and family (especially those females that love you) awake and worried every time you go out into the woods. My jokes about dying nobly in the mountains tend to fall on deaf ears. None of the women in my life (i.e., my wife and daughter) think my death-in-the-wilderness jokes are funny.

When I was younger they worried that I’d do something stupid because I was young and thought I was invincible. Now they worry that I’ll get hurt while simply walking on a trail or climbing onto a river rock. When I do get seriously injured, it won’t be from doing something incredibly stupid; it will happen by doing something that is safe and sensible – for a guy in his 20s or 30s, but maybe not for a guy in his 50s. When I end up with broken bones or dehydrated from exposure, and someone asks me what happened, my short answer will be: “Not acting my age.” Learning to act my age is a lesson I’m still resisting – thus the worried women.

 

But, bless their hearts, they’ve always just smiled and said, “Have fun and be careful.” They haven’t yet tried to stop me from playing in the rivers, ridges, woods, and lakes. They understand that an old guy’s gotta do what an old guy’s gotta do. Even if he can’t do it as well as he used to.

So if you’d like to spend some time in the state of Denial, just let me know, and I’ll give you directions. It’s a nice place to visit (although, the accident and injury rates are pretty high). In fact, I intend to spend my retirement years there, if I can get Phyllis to agree to the move.