The mental game of turning forty
- artcrisismanagemen
- Nov 24
- 3 min read
At the beginning of this month I reached something I once looked at from a safe distance, afraid to get anywhere near it; I turned forty years old.
I’d been priming myself to accept it. As a kid it seemed ancient. As an adult, I advocate that it’s not that old, simply grown. I’ve learned to see it as the best possible outcome. You either age or you don’t, and we all know what the alternative is.
This fall, I went on a three-week tour that ended precisely on my birthday. It’s hard to explain to a non-musician just how physically and mentally draining touring is. I hadn’t done a long one in three years, and in the months leading up to it I questioned if I still had it in me. I’d been doubting my body, and my capacity for discomfort. A voice kept telling me I’d grown too soft.
I admit, part of me had stopped believing I could do it.
I’ve heard some of my favorite athletes and musicians say you lose the mental battle before you lose the physical one. And there I was, throwing in the towel before the opening whistle.
Enter a seventy-year old guitar player from New York.
One of the headlining bands on the tour was Agnostic Front, formed in 1980, five years before I was even born. I’m convinced that their founder, Vinnie Stigma, was meant to enter my life in the weeks leading up to my fortieth.
At almost twice my age, it seemed he had more energy and enthusiasm than the thirty musicians and crew members on the tour combined. Every night I watched him jump into the mosh pit mid-song, or play guitar while riding on the shoulders of his singer.
One night I ran into him at a gas station at two in the morning, still buzzing from the show.
“Paulie!” he called out to me from across the Citgo aisle. “We’re driving two more hours tonight,” he told me when I asked about their hotel plans.
Around noon the next day, while I was dragging my feet from the drive and the lack of sleep, I saw him pull up to the venue.
“Paulie!” He said again with the same excitement. “Look over there, a rainbow!” He pointed out, like it was his first time seeing one.
That’s a man that hasn’t even heard you can lose the mental battle.
I decided to adopt him as an example of endurance. If at seventy he was doing the same long drives as me, performing, hardly sleeping, yet could still wake up excited for another long day, what the hell had I been so jaded about?
Later that same night, on our drive to the hotel, my band and I started naming memorable basslines:
“Longview,”
“Ice ice baby,”
“Rearranged,” I added, and played it through the speakers.
Coincidentally, the very next morning I woke up to the news that the bassist from that song had passed away at just forty eight. Only eight years older than me.
Why would I waste time on limiting beliefs about getting older? Why not stop and taste all the rainbows while I can?
After that I set the intention to maximize presence and enjoyment. I ran three miles most mornings, took myself on dates whenever I could, shared cigars with tour mates, and sat outside in the sun. Most importantly, I shifted my attitude from thinking that “my peak is behind me” to “the best is yet to come.”
I’m writing this back in my apartment in Chicago. I just finished watching a Showtime documentary on Agnostic Front from ten years ago. I smiled when my new buddy Vinnie appeared on screen. They showed footage filmed on his sixtieth birthday.
“When it comes time for me to stop,” he says into the camera, “I’ll have to stop. But until then mothafucka… I’m gonna keep going, I’m gonna live my life.”
I’m happy to report that he’s still winning the game.
I’m looking ahead at the next ten years and being intentional about how I frame them, choosing to see abundance, possibility and wonder. My mind may try to tell me that I’m tired, that dreams expire, but my mind is a liar. I won’t let it forfeit the game.
You can go until you want to go. I’ve seen living proof.
