Chapter 1: The Fear of Aging

As I’ve aged, I’ve noticed my hair turning gray and wrinkles forming on my face, but what surprised me most was the growing sense of fear that came with it. This isn't the whimsical "fear of the unknown," but rather a more tangible "fear of the known," rooted in life experiences and a thickening layer of cynicism.

I still engage in competitive soccer, playing to my strengths and relying on younger teammates to cover my shortcomings. Not long ago, after an uncomfortable collision, I found myself heading for an x-ray, fearing a broken collarbone. Thankfully, it turned out to be just a deep bruise, leaving me disheartened by the pain I’d endured without any real consequence—other than the ability to grumble about it.

Fast forward a few months, and I was hosting my nephew and his friend from the UK—two tall, energetic young men ready to explore America. After their adventures in NYC, we made our way to the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania. There, we played tennis, swam in a lake, and hiked to a waterfall, all the while joking about the local bear population, which could pose a threat—especially if someone made a poor call on the tennis court.

Then came the bright idea of visiting Camelbeach, our local waterpark. This venue cleverly plays on words, as it's also part of the Camelback Ski Resort in winter. Before you wonder, camels are definitely not found in Pennsylvania, nor do they ski or fit on waterslides—although I would pay to witness such a spectacle.

Naturally, I made sure we arrived a full ten minutes before the park opened. To my surprise, the parking lot was nearly empty. Parking close to the entrance cost $20, so we opted for the free lot, which felt like a long trek from civilization. Here, we encountered a sunburned attendant who looked like he’d endured a long desert stint. My attempt at humor—asking him if he could let us in—was met with a grunt that seemed to echo his life choices.

Where were all the people? Was there a tiger on the loose? An active shooter? (Fortunately, he was still working on his manifesto.) The sparse attendance was likely due to the forecast predicting rain later, discouraging anyone from spending $42 on a half-day pass.

After the hike back to the entrance, my son, daughter, the two English lads, and I—looking rather like a Shetland pony among stallions—were thrilled to enter without any wait.

Our first order of business was to rent a locker, and as usual, the prices were outrageous: $25 for a small locker barely big enough for car keys or $30 for a larger one. I opted for the larger one, only to find myself crawling to the back because it was ridiculously deep. If this were Alice in Wonderland, the sign would have read “Fuck you,” as I wrestled with the aggressive spring-loaded door.

With our belongings secured, we dashed to the most popular rides before the crowds arrived. Most rides involved the delightful task of hauling your own inflatable dinghy up a steep concrete hill or leaning back, hands behind your head, and praying for a smooth ride. I found the dinghy rides less intimidating, although one of them sent you down a dark tube where the only illumination came from the occasional pinhole of light. I felt vulnerable with my feet sticking out, picturing an unfortunate accident where I might get wedged in, waiting for the next unsuspecting rider.

Eventually, I was unceremoniously spat out into a pool of water, feeling like a shipwreck survivor as my friends eagerly shouted, “Again!”

The theme of our morning became running up concrete hills and racing down plastic tubes. We soon found ourselves at the Triple Venom slides—steep, twisting tubes that felt like they could liquify a human. I watched as unsuspecting riders were flung into the water below, and after witnessing some women exit, I mused they could rename the park “Camel-toe Beach” in their honor.

Despite the warnings from my aging body, I pushed forward, eager to keep up with the younger crowd. Ignoring the reality of my stiff body, I charged ahead, gaining speed as I hit the first bend.

Oof! That hurt.

Then came the next turn.

Smack! Ouch!

Bend, bang!

Bend, slap!

Bend, thwack!

Trough, slam!

I rolled out of the trough, my elbows stinging. My young companions assessed the damage to my skinned elbows, wincing at my unfortunate state. I wondered just how much skin had been left behind in those tubes. Perhaps the staff collected it at the end of the day for some nefarious purpose.

Embracing the “manly man” facade, I declared it was time for lunch. We settled on hot dogs, which turned out to be $10 each and decidedly underwhelming. After wrestling with a ketchup dispenser that seemed intent on splattering my shirt, I began to tackle a mustard packet that felt like it required a secret code to open.

As I munched on my hot dog, I couldn’t help but feel that I had become part of the leftover “dad skin” now adorning those slides.

After lunch, I suggested we take it easy and headed over to the wave pool, Kahuna Lagoon. As we entered, I tried to ignore the discomfort of my burning elbows in the water. We stood there like soggy meerkats, waiting for the wave warning. Initially, the water was calm, but then chaos erupted as massive waves crashed down, tossing us around like rag dolls.

Children collided with their fathers, who were helplessly slammed together as it became a struggle for survival. Just when it seemed like all was lost, the waves receded, leaving us breathless but united again.

My young companions loved the excitement, but as dark clouds rolled in, I suggested we float on the Lazy River. We each found our dinghies and drifted, only to be met by cold rain that chilled us to the bone. After a long ride filled with attempts to dodge the fountains, we finally reached the exit.

As I exited my dinghy, I noticed it was stained with blood from my elbows—reminding me of a scene from Jaws.

That was the moment my battered body declared it was time to head home. With no objections from my companions, we battled the locker door for our belongings and began the post-apocalyptic trek back to the car, relieved to see the grumpy parking attendant as we wrapped up our painful adventure.

On the drive home, I felt a sense of triumph for facing my fears and, momentarily, giving the aging process a run for its money.

In this engaging talk, Nassim Nicholas Taleb discusses the importance of having "skin in the game" and how it applies to various aspects of life and decision-making.

Nassim Taleb elaborates on his concept of "skin in the game," emphasizing the necessity of accountability and the risks of decision-making without personal stakes.