I watched a movie the other day. In one scene, a business conference was being held in a luxury hotel. The walls were sprinkled with motivational posters: \u201cExcellence is Everything\u201d – \u201cWinning is the Only Thing\u201d – \u201c#2 is not an option.\u201d I found it amusing; in a way only an old coot would because those slogans don\u2019t apply to me anymore. They don\u2019t fit the condition I find myself in.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcellence\u201d is not an option, not for an old coot. Mediocrity is the name of my game. The posters at a seminar I might attend, are a lot different than those at a hyped-up business conference: – \u201cWorking up to average is an honorable goal!\u201d – – \u201cBeing #1 is overrated (so are #2 & #3).\u201d \u201cGetting your pants on without tripping signals a good day ahead.\u201d It\u2019s a tough transition, going from the first string to the sidelines, but those who embrace the change find gold at the end of the rainbow. <\/p>\n
The old coot world is a comfortable place. Nobody expects much of you. They know you have limitations. When asked to help move something, we give them the \u201cbad back\u201d story. When they want to borrow money, we give them the \u201cfixed income\u201d excuse. When they want us to go to the opera, we give them the \u201ccan\u2019t stay awake after eight\u201d routine. Eventually, they think we can\u2019t do anything; the requests stop coming in. Old coots are free. We can go about our business unencumbered. If we do step in to lend a hand, we get the royal treatment. We help a niece move to a new apartment by standing around supervising and occasionally shuttling a box from the truck to the house, having tested it to be sure it’s filled with pillows. \u201cDon\u2019t hurt your back Uncle Coot,\u201d our appreciative niece cautions, having accepted the \u201cbad back\u201d groundwork that was laid down years earlier. \u201cThat\u2019s OK honey, I just want to help,\u201d we reply. We get an \u201cA\u201d for a \u201cD – minus\u201d performance. That\u2019s how the old coot deal works.<\/p>\n
Sure, there are drawbacks. Nobody said being an old fossil was easy. We\u2019re not sure if the niece\u2019s name is Laura or Lynn. We know it starts with an \u201cL,\u201d and getting the first letter right is good enough when your goal is \u201cmediocrity.\u201d Nobody expects more, least of all us. Our little stumbles slide by unnoticed. People know our memories aren\u2019t what they used to be. They\u2019ve heard our conversations, the ones sprinkled with old cootisms: what\u2019s-his-name, thing-a-ma-jig, what-do-you-call-it. They know we \u201cwalk the mail\u201d – bring back home the letters we were supposed to mail after giving them a journey through town in our back pocket. They know our refrigerators are plastered with post-it-notes: get milk – mow the lawn – go to the Rotary meeting. Our life history is written out on yellow sticky paper. I save my old notes in a metal, fireproof box. It\u2019s a time capsule for the archeologists to uncover a thousand years from now. They\u2019ll conclude that the people of this era had small brains, limited memories and were forced to write everything down. They\u2019ll be right! <\/p>\n