Posted March 12, 2013 by jimhigley
I met a buddy for lunch yesterday. I’ll call him Greg even though that’s not his real name. I like him too much to make him the, er, butt of all of this.
Greg and I haven’t been able to connect for a few months. He’s a dad with kids ranging from a toddler to post college. His plate is full. Actually his plate – and I’m talking the figurative plate of life – looks like he went through a smorgasbord a few times over, and its edges are dripping with spaghetti, mashed potatoes, some ribs and three servings of creme brulee. This guy is overwhelmed. He’s burning the candle at both ends. He’s the poster child for guys who make it a priority to take care of everyone in their life.
I love this guy. He’s always positive. He always is interested in my life and kids. He adores his family and oozes with pride when he talks about his wife and kids. So, I know all too well, that if he goes deep – and gets a little serious – he means it.
“Jim,” he started to say to me after about twenty minutes of catch-up chit-chat, “I want to tell you some stuff that I’m going through.” And, he proceeded to tell me how mad he was at himself for letting his physical health go backwards. He’s gained a bunch of extra weight, stopped exercising and – in spite of all the happiness in his life – wasn’t happy with certain parts of it.
Then, we proceeded to have one heck of a heart-to-heart discussion about why we guys do this. He wasn’t alone, I assured him. It’s that rotten post-forty moment of a guy’s life when you juggle a demanding career, an over-scheduled family life, numerous volunteer activities, and a metabolism that decides to stop firing. We talked about exercise. We talked about diet. We talked about stress, feeling happy and how frickin fast life goes by.
It was a conversation right up my ally. Been there. Done that. Feel that. All too often. Greg was in good company.
But it all made me wonder, is this the kind of stuff my dad and his golf buddies used to talk about during their regular Thursday golf outing in the sixties, seventies and eighties? I really can’t picture it. If you watch Mad Men, that was my dad’s era. Can you imagine the guys on MM sitting around the office talking about feeling bloated?
Anyway, Greg, if you read this, I’m glad you trusted me with your frustrations. I got your back, friend.
And your butt looks fine.