Aging is supposed to bring wisdom, perspective and a deeper appreciation for life’s simple pleasures. It also apparently brings mysterious back injuries from writing checks, sleep-related ailments and the realization that standing up from a comfortable chair has become a team sport. In his hilarious new book, This Sh*t Only Gets Worse, Dan Licitra finds comedy in the everyday indignities of getting older, from technological headaches to physical betrayals that seem to arrive without warning. In this Q&A, Licitra discusses the absurdity of aging, the “Great Fitness Betrayal” and why sometimes the only sensible response to life’s decline is to laugh at it.
You make the case that aging feels especially unfair when you’ve done everything “right.” What’s the most ridiculous example of your body betraying you despite your best efforts?
I wish the story about my back were even a slight exaggeration. I threw it out, leaning over to write a check. Yes. A check. Not a $100,000 check that could ruin me financially. Not a check for something stressful, life-altering, or emotionally taxing. Just a boring, routine check that required moving forward six inches. Not today. I spent that week seeing the chiropractor four times just to pay my cable bill.
The book suggests that sleeping has somehow become a full-contact sport. What was the moment you realized a good night’s sleep could actually leave you injured?
There is no “moment” really. Aging doesn’t arrive like a tragedy. It arrives like a punchline you didn’t see coming. And the joke, unfortunately, keeps getting longer. You go to sleep a functioning human being and wake up shaped like a question mark. Every morning starts with a status meeting that nobody wants to attend. The agenda is always the same: What hurts now? And pain doesn’t leave anymore. It moves into your guest room and now lives with you.
You write about the “Great Fitness Betrayal.” How do you explain the fact that some people can survive marathons but throw out their backs reaching for a coffee mug?
That’s just it. The funniest part is our bodies don’t pick up obvious threats. We can go to the gym, shovel snow, move furniture, run a 5K, etc. It attacks micro-movements. Slight adjustments, subtle turns, innocent bending — these are the fatal errors now. You become a cautious agent navigating a minefield disguised as normal life.
One of the funniest themes in the book is that everyday activities now require strategic planning. At what point did things like stairs, chairs and parking spaces become major life decisions?
The fact is aging doesn’t occur like some event in your life. It sneaks up on you like the first time you squat to pick something up and realize you need something to help winch you up: a chair, a wall, a nearby dog. Then eventually you sit in a chair that is so comfortable but realize you need a One, Two, Three, and Up! chant to get yourself out of it. It becomes less standing up and more of a rescue mission for your body.
Technology was supposed to make life easier. Why does it seem that every new smart device creates new problems for people over 45?
It’s a vast departure from everything we were used to growing up. Nothing is “plug-and-play” anymore. Phones, computers and cars all need instructions for settings, passwords, authentications and backup identification. You can’t even get information from your own doctor anymore without entering a portal without a 12-character password, a fingerprint, blood type and facial recognition.
What’s the secret to enjoying the ride instead of spending all day yelling at your knees, your phone and restaurant lighting?
Technological issues, body pains, memory failure and loss of patience get to a point where it’s so ridiculous it becomes hysterical. When I first noticed these changes, they generated uneasiness or even anger to a point. Now I find myself laughing at these things — the worse, the funnier. Today I adjust and compensate for the declines. I’m still grateful for being highly functional (on a sliding scale, of course), and it’s better than stressing or crying about things. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that This Sh*t Only Gets Worse.