You are young and self conscious. You think that everyone will notice what you look like. You are disappointed when others get noticed and not you. You think that no one will ever find you attractive. I am speaking naturally as a non alpha male, otherwise I may just assume everyone finds me irresistible.
Relationships come and in our case many children follow. Anno Domini begins to creep up on you. You start to look at how old everyone is in relation to you, checking on Wikipedia for musicians/actors ages. You look in the mirror less but occasionally take a glance to check how far you have deteriorated. Clothes begin to be smaller. Style (what little you had) makes way for comfort and practicality.
Fuck me you have turned into your parents. The realisation that it will require effort and sacrifice to make your clothes larger again. The parallel thought also occurs. Who am I kidding? What does it matter how I look?
Those adolescent to early adult years spent preoccupied with being wanted are replaced with reality of early middle age of being ignored or taken for granted. I meet friends of the same age. These chaps are the finest of people. Funny, intelligent, charming and the same shape as me. We met recently and all remarked on the same inevitability that what chance would any of us have with anyone we actually found attractive(as a hypothetical exercise). We laughed it off turning to more important matters such as music or memories. I was left wondering though, am I comfortable with what I have become. My answer was no.
I look at myself and feel disappointed. I am no Jeremy Irons or Nigel Havers. I never had grace or class. I am not rugged or chiselled. I am not wealthy or indeed comfortable financially. I don’t have money to act as a redeeming feature that would offset me going to seed. I have to face facts that I have let myself go. In fact I’ve gone so far that I don’t know how to get back. This makes me more uncomfortable than any amount of lugging me around. Maybe the answer lies in feeling happy. The cycle of self neglect is not one a happy person is generally immersed in. I am not unhappy just not happy.
I write and that makes me happy. It may depress the hell out of you lot but the catharsis does me good. I listen to music and that fills me with joy. Family exercises polar emotions. We love and laugh as well as shout and loathe at times.
The answer is not to allow yourself to be accepted for what you have become. I do not want to be thought of as an overweight dad of six children. When I stand at my son’s football next dads of a similar age and wonder why they seem fitter and happier than me; I should not feel jealous or miserable (not that I do really -much ). I should tell myself that they have not accepted deterioration yet so why should I?
The conclusion must be NO I AM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE.