Mysteries of male elderhood: testosterone, presence
and purpose.
When I turned sixty in 2008, I
set a clear intent of moving into elderhood, growing beyond my prevailing
warrior-hero approach to life. Six years on, I can report good progress but
further mysteries.
For most of my adult life, I have
been a happy workaholic: drawn to situations where I had lots of challenge and
responsibility, working in a state of high adrenaline which gave purpose and
structure to my life, and paved over the murky depths beneath.
All this has been dissolving and under
scrutiny since I turned 50. I have made numerous descents into the murky
depths, sometimes just falling in, sometimes an orderly visit properly equipped
with a therapist. I aim to be friends with the early wounds and neurotic habits
which still thrash around in those depths: I don’t believe they ever disappear,
but an elder has their measure.
