Don’t cry for me (yet), Alexander

Legend has it that Alexander the Great wept because there were no more worlds to conquer. I’ll never aspire to global dictator, but in my own small way I think I know how Alexander felt.

For about the past year I’ve had this growing sense that maybe I’ve achieved as much as I’m going to achieve in this life. That maybe I’ve reached the peak of whatever mountain – hill? – that I’ve been climbing all these years and there’s nowhere to go but down. That maybe, like the mighty Macedonian above, my best days are behind me.

Alexander was driven to tears

I want to believe it isn’t true and that there are still major campaigns to wage in my real-life game of Risk, but recent developments would indicate otherwise. Plus, at age 51, how many more conquests are left in me? Am I at my Douglas MacArthur “old soldiers never die; they just fade away” moment?

It began with the high school graduations of my two kids, and the realization that my job of parenting was nearly over. With it went my active involvement in the local homeschool athletic program I founded with gallons of blood, sweat and tears. Then came a significant professional disappointment – a seminal event that left me questioning my abilities, career path, and even my long-held beliefs about work ethic.

Suddenly, while the world was charging into battle, I was marching in place.

I spoke with a few male friends who are about my age, hoping they could help me sort through whatever it was that was going on inside my head. To my surprise, they were experiencing similar emotions: uncertainty about the future and their role in it, second-guessing decisions that brought them to this point, and a general feeling that their internal fire is slowly being extinguished by forces beyond their control.

One friend said men have a natural need to conquer. In our more civilized society that usually means changing jobs, taking on new projects or checking off the final items on their bucket lists.

“We’re always looking for the next big adventure,” he said.

“And what if there aren’t any big adventures left?” I asked.

“You just have to keep the faith and continue to do what’s right,” he said. “You never know what might be around the corner.”

Another friend said he was considering applying for a transfer within his company to another supervisory job hundreds of miles away. With one kid in college and the other joining her this fall, he said a change in scenery and responsibility might be just what his stale life needs. He acknowledged that the prospect of a new challenge is both exhilarating and terrifying.

What if I find the new job is a bigger struggle and less rewarding than the routine I know now? he asked in so many words. Can I really start over again at this stage in my life?

To his dismay, MacArthur faded away

“It’s the devil you know versus the devil you don’t know,” I said.

We continued on, talking about having to compete against younger go-getters who are happy to take our jobs for half the pay and benefits. We discussed the hurdles of keeping current with evolving technology. And we delved into the dreaded “L” word: layoff.

“I thought life would get easier as I got older, but it only seems to get harder and more complicated,” I said.

“I know what you mean,” my friend replied.

Despite their doubts and confusion, neither friend bemoaned his existence. Both were thankful to be gainfully employed, relatively financially secure and enjoying stable marriages. I feel the same way.

Still, there’s this itch that I can’t seem to scratch. There are all these nagging questions: Have I reached a plateau? Have I scaled my last rock wall? Are there no more worlds for me to conquer? With retirement still 15 years away, am I already in Alexander the Great territory?

Like my friend suggested, I’ll take it day by day. But I’ll keep that box of Kleenex nearby, just in case.