The Former Version of Ourselves

By Parke Sterling, LPC

Recently I saw a video of Rick Springfield performing “Jessie’s Girl” in concert.

He is in his late 70s now and in great shape. He was singing with no shirt on and tight leather pants.

Maybe he is simply still having a blast, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he was hanging on to something. And maybe hanging on a bit too tightly.

There is a concept in ACT, and 2,500 years prior to that in Buddhism, that states that if we cling to a self-identity, we will inevitably suffer.

When you step back, it makes sense why.

Everything is impermanent and constantly changing. If we cling to any of it for our okayness, then by definition, we will be not okay when it changes.

I work with a lot of high-achieving men.

And one thing I’ve noticed is that the more someone stands out in terms of intelligence, physical capability or appearance, the more likely they are to identify strongly with those traits.

Those attributes become a core piece of who they are. It’s how they define themselves.

Who am I without it? they may think.

And I see why. After all, they have been getting admiration since they were young because they exhibited these traits. That admiration can feel like love.

The next short leap, consciously or not, is I’m only lovable because of these qualities.

So they double down. They cling tightly to that identity. And they reap the benefits of it.

That’s all well and good for a while, but when those attributes start to fade, it can feel as though their worth fades with them.

I once heard someone say, “Always be willing to die to your former self.”

Willing or not, it seems we will all be forced to reckon with change.

Physically, we might not be as capable. We certainly don’t run as fast or jump as high or recover as quickly.

We don’t look the same. Maybe we have less hair in some places and more in others. Maybe the pants don’t fit like they used to.

Intellectually, over time, some things may not come as easily.

We are never ready for these changes to take place. And they certainly don’t care about our timeline.

There can be some real mourning in this.

We can literally grieve a former version of ourselves. The younger, fitter, smarter, up-and-comer.

Then the suffering comes in when we tell ourselves, I used to be better. This shouldn’t be happening. It means I’m less than I used to be.

And don’t get me wrong, I’m still in my 40s, so I feel grateful to be plenty capable.

But I have also noticed that this is the decade where life starts to force you to recognize that things don’t look or work the same.

And all I have to do is pay attention to the guys in their 50s, 60s and beyond to see what’s in store.

Nobody gets to keep what they have forever.

And that’s not a tragedy. It’s just the nature of things. It’s the deal we apparently agreed to in order to be human for a bit.

But maybe there is an upside to all of this change.

While we may lose ability and performance on one hand, maybe we gain perspective, wisdom, and gratitude on the other.

After all, look at all these wonderful things that this mind and body can do.

Sometimes I’ll play a game that I call the 30-year experiment. I’m sure I didn’t invent this.

I imagine that it’s actually 30 years into the future, but I get to come back to this moment for one day.

Wow, look at my wife and me, we look great. The kids are still in the house. And the dog is still alive! I can run and jump. The mind works great. I feel so young.

It helps me actively cultivate gratitude for what is here, instead of harping on what is not.

And as a result, maybe I can even start to enjoy this version of myself.

Maybe I realize I didn’t need to push as hard physically as I once did.

Or maybe, in Rick’s case, we realize that always having to be the heartthrob was actually kind of burdensome.

Then maybe the thought dawns on us: I thought I needed this to be okay, but turns out I didn’t.

And maybe letting go of that is kind of freeing.

Kind of an easier way to move about life.

Try This

Hold it all loosely.

It’s like when you’re building a sandcastle.

You apply careful attention and detail to what you are building, but you also recognize that it’s made out of sand and the tide is coming in sooner or later.

You still enjoy building the castle. You just don’t define your worth by it. You treat it more like a game.