Next month will be daunting—mentally and psychologically daunting.
Next month comes with a milestone birthday that, no matter how I look at it, will make me feel old.
Next month, exactly one week after I turn 50, Bruce Springsteen turns 70, and that is a milestone I can’t wrap my mind around.
For me, turning 50 is no big deal. I’ve felt like I was 50 since I was 38, but now, at least, I’ll get the benefits that come with AARP. But The Boss turning 70 is just too much for me to handle.
Springsteen represents the wild rebellion of youth. His music, when he was at the height of his popularity, was about cutting loose with friends and the promise of summer and the ache and thrill of young love. It was about being born to run and racing in the street and dancing in the dark. It was not about getting old; growing up, maybe—but not getting old.
I was five years old when the album Born to Run came out. I’m not sure exactly when it arrived in our house, but I am sure that it was my brother Mark, seven years my senior, who purchased it. But it wasn’t until a few years later that I got hooked. Sometime in fifth grade I started to listen to music obsessively, and Born to Run was the album I listened to more than any other. After weeks of constant play I had every lyric of every song memorized. It was far and away my favorite album at the time and four decades later it remains my favorite album.
Four decades later—whew! It’s a very long time and I fully understand that people age. Four decades later I take blood pressure medication on a daily basis, and have had colonoscopies, and grow hair in weird places. I have aged in four decades, but every time I listen to Springsteen I’m transported back to my youth. And next month, the man who transports me back there turns 70.
Of course, the truth is that Springsteen at 70 will be considerably more youthful than I will be at 50. I’ve seen him in concert four times, most recently in 2012, and the amount of energy this guy had on stage was mind-boggling. The Boss was doing things up there at 63 that I wouldn’t have been able to do at 23. And I’m not even talking about the musical stuff, which of course, I couldn’t do; I’m talking about the athleticism and the exuberance that he displayed for three straight hours. If I tried to match that for 15 minutes I’d need a defibrillator.
But that concert was seven years ago. How am I to know if Springsteen is still able to muster that kind of energy as he approaches his septuagenarian years? Well, the evidence is overwhelming. Since that night The Boss has played 204 more concerts, published an autobiography, released two albums, and did a run of 236 shows on Broadway. And I just found out last week that my sister-in-law’s friend works out at the same hole-in-the wall gym that he goes to regularly in Central Jersey. Apparently, Bruce was born to run on the treadmill.
So maybe it’s not so much the number 70 attached to Springsteen that’s making me feel old. It is just a number after all. Maybe it’s that as I hit 50, I see this iconic rocker from my youth, who is 20 years older than me, still making noise, while the only noise I make is the groan I emit when I emerge from my recliner.
So happy 70th, Bruce! And thank you for making the music that brings me back to my younger days. Now excuse me while I take my afternoon nap.
Next month comes with a milestone birthday that, no matter how I look at it, will make me feel old.
Next month, exactly one week after I turn 50, Bruce Springsteen turns 70, and that is a milestone I can’t wrap my mind around.
For me, turning 50 is no big deal. I’ve felt like I was 50 since I was 38, but now, at least, I’ll get the benefits that come with AARP. But The Boss turning 70 is just too much for me to handle.
Springsteen represents the wild rebellion of youth. His music, when he was at the height of his popularity, was about cutting loose with friends and the promise of summer and the ache and thrill of young love. It was about being born to run and racing in the street and dancing in the dark. It was not about getting old; growing up, maybe—but not getting old.
I was five years old when the album Born to Run came out. I’m not sure exactly when it arrived in our house, but I am sure that it was my brother Mark, seven years my senior, who purchased it. But it wasn’t until a few years later that I got hooked. Sometime in fifth grade I started to listen to music obsessively, and Born to Run was the album I listened to more than any other. After weeks of constant play I had every lyric of every song memorized. It was far and away my favorite album at the time and four decades later it remains my favorite album.
Four decades later—whew! It’s a very long time and I fully understand that people age. Four decades later I take blood pressure medication on a daily basis, and have had colonoscopies, and grow hair in weird places. I have aged in four decades, but every time I listen to Springsteen I’m transported back to my youth. And next month, the man who transports me back there turns 70.
Of course, the truth is that Springsteen at 70 will be considerably more youthful than I will be at 50. I’ve seen him in concert four times, most recently in 2012, and the amount of energy this guy had on stage was mind-boggling. The Boss was doing things up there at 63 that I wouldn’t have been able to do at 23. And I’m not even talking about the musical stuff, which of course, I couldn’t do; I’m talking about the athleticism and the exuberance that he displayed for three straight hours. If I tried to match that for 15 minutes I’d need a defibrillator.
But that concert was seven years ago. How am I to know if Springsteen is still able to muster that kind of energy as he approaches his septuagenarian years? Well, the evidence is overwhelming. Since that night The Boss has played 204 more concerts, published an autobiography, released two albums, and did a run of 236 shows on Broadway. And I just found out last week that my sister-in-law’s friend works out at the same hole-in-the wall gym that he goes to regularly in Central Jersey. Apparently, Bruce was born to run on the treadmill.
So maybe it’s not so much the number 70 attached to Springsteen that’s making me feel old. It is just a number after all. Maybe it’s that as I hit 50, I see this iconic rocker from my youth, who is 20 years older than me, still making noise, while the only noise I make is the groan I emit when I emerge from my recliner.
So happy 70th, Bruce! And thank you for making the music that brings me back to my younger days. Now excuse me while I take my afternoon nap.
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