Age – or lack of inspiration?

Tempus Fugit – time flies.

Inspiration – ĭn″spə-rā′shən

1. a divine influence or action on a person, imploring one to chase adventure
2. the action or power of moving the soul
3. a force of nature impervious to discouragement
4. that which is in rapidly thinning supply within most people after age thirty

I am a prospective racing driver. That is…probably a strange statement to read, given the author is also thirty-three years of age at the time of writing.

Rest in Peace, my comments section. Nah, for comments to materialize below this post the site would require actual readers, which is something sorely missing here..

That is me, looking at my blog’s statistics late at night and wondering why you have not subscribed yet. Subscribe to this blog, FFS!

..or else!

In any case, I am fully cognizant of the first impressions any motorsport fan might have upon reading those lines above. How is that, you ask? Well I have heard it all many, many times. Not just presently either, but during every stage of my life so far.

You’re already five years old, little buddy. It’s way too late for you to start now!

Racing? You’re ten years old now, you should have fourteen years of experience at this point!

Racing Driver? You can’t be serious. You’re twenty, it’s literally impossible now.

THIRTY? Dude, I like you, but you’re fuckin’ elderly. Give this up, already.

That last sentiment is the one which truly perplexes me, maybe more so even than the three preceding ones. When did this dogmatic, illogical idea take hold as an axiom by the general population? That is, being thirty years of age or greater equating to..being elderly?

I can only postulate here but there is only one reason I can infer this axiomatic….rubbish has perpetuated and persists now so commonly. It must be because time is finite, and is therefore the most intensely precious resource which exists.

As Virgil, the great Roman poet, aptly wrote in Georgics, “Fugit inreparabile tempus” – it escapes, irretrievable time.

As far as the dogma described above is concerned, having less time ahead of you, then, is very wrongly tantamount to being old and busted. What perpetuates this idea of being incapable after thirty is two-fold in my opinion. Firstly, the youthful portion of society places very little value on anyone older than themselves and partition to them…all of the blame for issues affecting society as a whole at present. Secondly, the slightly older portion of society, especially after a certain age, simply view time differently. It happens to almost everyone at some point, especially when people fall into…well, the arms of the enemy. That is, that sleepy environment sometimes referred to as routine. A person’s younger years are associated with new, fresh experiences. When people fall into a routine, usually associated with the thirties and forties, people tend to experience far fewer novel happenings. Early years, then, in memory seem overly represented, while later ones seem less significant. It seems to the writer that this could be the reason the dogma is not only accepted by the younger and entitled crowd, but gobbled up by the older crowd as well, becoming an axiom in society.

Apologies for rambling on above, but there is prudent reasoning for doing so. The only way to fight this sensation of time passing more quickly when one is older is to keep the brain engaged. In other words, chase more new experiences. If nothing else, keep chasing adventure. There is much to learn this way.

I often wondered why it is inspiration also seems to decrease with age, almost directly proportional in rate. After thirty, however, the rate at which inspiration decays seems to skyrocket in comparison to the passage of time. I have never been able to compute why; is inspiration often conflated with youth? It surely seems so, but that is not logical. Once precious time expires, of course there is no rewind capability, it is lost forever. Why exactly does inspiration seem to wither in much the same way? Is it because of the traffic jam of obligations also popping up in that stage of life? Steps up to upper management or senior roles in one’s profession? Marriage? Children? Either way, I find it quite confounding. After all, it is simply not the case that one’s inspiration is irretrievable in the same the way time is.

From my own perspective it is a bit like life’s version of accounting’s “death spiral.” The omnipresent elimination of time affects inspiration – there is less inspiration to spread around per unit time remaining. The resultant lessening inspiration seems insufficient to support the fervent chase of one’s goal. Why is that?

Inspiration is the catalyst for motivation. The prevalent dogma has trained most people to blindly accept that if a certain amount of time passes in life, inspiration should decrease; in lockstep at first, and then in an ever increasing rate. Once the inspiration to pursue a dream runs dry enough, the spark of motivation lacks accelerant. This, my dear passenger, is the prospective athlete’s version of the downward demand spiral in life.

So time passes. It feels like it passes very quickly at times, especially as one ages. Should the opposite not be true, then, of decreasing inspiration? Should inspiration, and therefore the motivation it ignites, be inversely proportional to age or perceived time left? If not, I suggest a re-examination of one’s perspective of passing time – accomplishing your goals is a hair-on-fire f*ckin’ emergency because time is irretrievable. Get after it, already.

Getting after it – that is the point I take from Virgil’s ancient pastorale above. It serves as a reminder that time is indeed precious. Refer to two other famous latin phrases. Memento Mori – remember you will die. In other words, time is running out. Carpe Diem – seize the day; use time wisely. Absolutely no one should contemplate these three latin phrases and suddenly feel the pull to impetuous resignation of their inspiration. Do not fall victim to the silly, modern axiom of being old and busted because you are not ten years of age with fourteen years experience.

Am I really too advanced in age to become a professional racing driver? I think it is more likely people who say I am too old for this just lack…well, two things.. these were a few scribbles about one of those subjects today since, well, maybe someone will trip into this silent hermitage of the internet and take something positive on their way out. This was the final note of this three-part interjection about age. Or, as I like to call it, a steadily growing absence of inspiration.

Paired with fitness, motivation can do a lot for someone – it can make age nothing. Inspiration is the requisite catalyst for it all. Never let it run dry. That is the first step towards death, not every passing day.

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As an aside, how old were you when you gave up on your aspirations? Listen, esteemed passenger, if you are one of those people who is genuinely doing what they love for a career – and I mean really love, not something they learned to love as the alternative was checking out of the Life Hotel early – then this post did nothing for you.

I am very happy for you, by the way.

To the rest of you who come upon this particular rambling: seriously, think about it. Why? Why did you stop listening to your inner animal? Whose voices silenced it? If I had to guess, I would say it was not your inner compass malfunctioning at all. I would guess your ears simply grew more sensitive than your heart – because we all know there is no shortage of people who are primed up and thoroughly lubricated to say you just cannot do something.

With enough luck, we are all going to be old one day. Old as in the golden years, actual elderly age. I cannot speak for anyone else, but I know to a certainty if I am lucky enough to get to that stage of life, I would way rather be old AND a retired racing dri-…and have accomplished my dreams, kicking it in a rocking chair with zero regrets. Imagine how happy one could be when they are not left wondering what could have been. It certainly is not lost on me that most people wandering over here will be hoping to read about a grandiose tale of face-flattening failure. What is worse, though? Regret or failure?