3 Ways I'm Trying NOT to be an Asshole in my 60s

Yes, there are more than three. But here are three.

Assholedness is not just the curse of old guys. Every generation has its share of assholes.

But at sixty-three, I feel the tug, I feel the temptation, I feel the pull of assholedness. And worse yet, I kinda feel like I have the right.

I do not want to be that guy. I don’t want to be that snarky, grumpy, pessimistic, sour, back-in-my-day, I-walked-to-school-uphill-both-ways guy. I don’t want to be judgy and condescending to young people, scoffing at the latest social trend. I don’t want to be that guy who thinks that almost everyone he meets is an asshole—because you know what that makes him—the biggest asshole in the room.

But I feel this torment on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, that guy can’t drive. I feel him tug on my earlobe, the world’s going to hell…if only it could be like back in my day. He even tugs on my beard, hissing, those people are all the same. So I flick him off. I shake like a wet dog. But he just settles into the small of my back, nesting quietly there for a while, waiting for an opportune time to climb back on my shoulder.

For me, most of my assholedness is in my head. It bangs around in there, making me doubt whether I’m a good person, making me question whether I’m as bad as my thoughts are. Pick a subject from the past few years…Trump, vaccines, a mega-church gone wrong, immigration, obesity, pharma commercials, reward points, jostling for a position at Costco for a sample, narcissists, people talking on their speaker phone…and yes, I have an opinion about all those things.

But it’s not the opinion that bothers me. It’s the snarkiness of my opinion and the correctness of it and my certainty that I’m right—and my ill feelings toward those who hold an opposite opinion, or, shall I say, the wrong opinion. That’s where my assholedness creeps in. It looks down on others and forgets its own mistakes and encases its opinion in concrete. I’m constantly glancing at my wife’s favorite fridge magnet: “Don’t believe everything you think.”

I’ve decided: I’m going to keep that little bugger off my shoulder.

Wouldn’t that be grand? To stay young at heart, optimistic, a little pie-in-the-sky? What if I wore a smile instead of a scowl? What if I held back an honest thought and encouraged instead? What if I kindly chuckled instead of narrowing my judgy eyes? What if I forgave quickly and graciously? What if…wait for it…I wasn’t an asshole?

Well, here are three ways I’m trying.  

I’m going to be humble. Nothing invites humility like remembering your past mistakes. Nothing! And I’ve made plenty of them. Once I hosted a hundred-person meeting and forgot the key to the facility. Once I delivered a presentation completely unprepared and humiliated myself and my company. I’ve picked unnecessary fights with my wife, I’ve made mistakes as a dad, my insights at work have turned out to be completely uninsightful. When golf started to boom 25 years ago, I thought it was just a phase. Man, was I wrong. (Thanks Tiger)

Now in my sixties, when so many things have come together for me, it’s easy to forget those times and take on the arrogance that comes with a poor memory. 

I’m going to resist the cry of the hermit. I don’t need people in my life like I used to. Now I’m comfortable being alone or just with my spouse. But too much time alone in my own echo chamber isn’t healthy for my frame of mind. So, I will resist that urge.

Recently I called three friends I hadn’t spoken to in years and asked them back into my life. I asked if we could be brothers again. They all heartily agreed.

I’ve recently published a soul-baring memoir and I’m writing pieces like this one. And as I’ve exposed myself to the world, people have come out of the woodwork (an old guy word) to tell me about their ‘son in prison’ or how they’re trying not to be an asshole. Well, amen! I will welcome these people. I will open myself up to fellowship. I will not hermit.

I choose kindness. Assholes are mean. They don’t care how others feel or what might hurt them. They just say what they want to say and fall back on “Well, it’s the truth.” But that’s assholedness. No one needs to know all your thoughts. Not even your spouse. I’m going to filter my thoughts and allow out only what is constructive.

Recently, I had a good excuse to be unkind. A narcissist started showing up to the park every morning where a couple friends and I take our dogs for Frisbee. He bulldozed our conversations; he talked incessantly; he cracked off-color jokes. This man just never stopped talking.

I didn’t want him there and I wanted to tell him so. I so badly wanted my righteous indignation to be expressed righteously. But I bit my tongue. I stepped away from the group when he was present. I didn’t want to be the asshole to the asshole.

After a few weeks I think he sensed that none of us were amused at his bulldozing, and he stopped coming to the park.

I know it’s a small victory but I’m glad I didn’t give into meanness.

Well, those are my three for this year…my sixty-third year of life. I know I could have listed five or eight or twelve, but then I’d have my wife and everyone else holding me accountable. Ha! Plus, I’ve got to leave some room for next year. Maybe this will become an annual list for me.

May God help you and me not be assholes.