I was a skinny kid. At 18, I was 6’ tall and weighed 140 lbs. I spent much of my adult life trying to get bigger and stronger. By my late 30s, I hit 175 lbs. after years of fitness training. In my early 50s, everything changed, and it seemed I could gain weight by simply remembering a meal I’d once eaten. I peaked at 200 lbs. Now, with my 60th birthday in the rearview, something altogether new is happening… I’m shrinking.
For health reasons, I dropped 25 lbs. this past year. Then an x-ray showed that fluid levels between my vertebrae are diminishing, causing my spine to compress. I am actually shrinking. This may simply be part of aging, but it doesn’t help when I’m standing next to my adult children in photographs – my sons at 6’2” and 6’5”, my daughter at 5’8” – while I am now 5’10”. It is in stark contrast to photos when they were children, when I looked like a giant with them tucked safely under my arms.
It recently occurred to me this physical shrinking mirrors other changes in my life and relationships. My role with my children is diminishing. With one living in Spain, one in Chicago, and another in Boston, I don’t see them very often. I’m rarely consulted about what they should do, or how they should do it. It used to be so different.
The same shrinking happened in my career. Over thirty years, I went from overseeing the Warner Bros. Television slate of primetime shows -- including FRIENDS, ER, THE WEST WING, GILMORE GIRLS, and more -- to a state of semi-retirement, spending most days in my home office, writing my way through the traumas of my youth. My phone sheet used to be pages long. Now, my calls are typically from my mother-in-law, the doctor’s office reminding me of an appointment, or someone trying to sell me solar.
I say these things without regret or sadness. It’s simply a recognition of change. But as some things diminish, others grow. My wife left an all-consuming job four years ago, and now works from home. We’ve gone from barely seeing each other to spending nearly every waking hour together. We have grown so much closer. We socialize with fewer people, but enjoy the friendships we have more than ever. We miss our children, but love watching them make their way in the world. And the painful work I’ve done sifting through the broken glass of my childhood has brought genuine healing. My heart -- once encased in scar tissue and buried under the chaos of a busy life – is open in a way it’s never been.
I feel more. I see more. I love more.
As we enter a new year and an unknown future, I do so with a shrinking body, but a bigger heart, and a deeper appreciation than I have ever known for the joy -- and change -- life can bring.
A native of rural southern Ohio, Trent Jones is a husband, father, writer, and musician living in Santa Monica, CA. A former television studio executive, for the past twelve years he has been Chairman of the Men’s Leadership Council, which supports the work of Stuart House and the Rape Treatment Center, providing compassionate treatment and care for victims of sexual assault.