What a CPAP machine taught me about life

On getting older.

I snore.

I have known this about myself for the better part of the last decade. I would, intermittently, wake up in the morning and find the other side of the bed empty — my wife having absconded to the guest room to get away from the noise.

And yet, I never did anything about it. Never saw a sleep specialist. Or even talked to my doctor friends (I have a few) about my options.

Why? For a very specific reason: My dad was a snorer. And he got a CPAP machine — the most common treatment for sleep apnea, which usually causes snoring — and used one, on and off, for most of the second half of his life.

For me, who was a tween and then a teenager when my dad started using the CPAP machine, it represented one thing: Being old — and infirm.

My dad was a smoker. He was overweight. He was not in good health — mental or physical — for the last 20+ years of his life.

I spent a lot of my childhood — and early adulthood — purposely doing the opposite of what he did in life. If he was something of a recluse, I forced myself to go out. If he was a less-than-ideal husband, I tried to bend over backward to be a good partner to my wife. He was physically inactive; I played basketball and worked out with a personal trainer.

You get it. It’s Psychology 101. Fathers and sons!

For me, the CPAP machine was the physical embodiment of my dad’s health problems. It was ungainly — a big mask with a velcro head set to keep it in place. A machine that made a bunch of noise.

It reminded me of patients I had seen in the hospital, hooked to a bunch of tubes and the like. And I hated it. And would do anything to avoid using it.

I have been doing a lot of thinking this past year about my life and what it means to get older. (I have written about a lot of this self exploration in this space.)

Toward the end of last year, after I found my wife asleep in the guest room (again), I decided to confront a) my snoring and b) my feelings about aging, illness and, yes, to some extent, my dad.

I went to a sleep doctor. I did a sleep test. I went for a follow up. And guess what arrived on my doorstep last week? Yup, a CPAP machine.

I will admit that I left it in the box for a few days. It still represented for me, a sort of death of youth and invincibility, a recognition that age had caught up with me, that the decline had begun.

(Sidebar: I am 47. I KNOW, at an intellectual level, I am no longer “young.” But, in my heart, I still feel young! And acknowledging that you are aging is a head and a heart thing!)

On Sunday, I opened the box. And used the machine that night.

It was just as awkward and weird as you might think. Having air pumped into your nose by a mask throughout the night isn’t, um, super comfortable. Or cool. Or, er, sexy. Like, at all.

But, guess what? I slept really well. And felt more refreshed (and in a better mood) the next morning than I had in a looooong time.

There’s a lesson in here, I think. I spent a decade — TEN WHOLE YEARS — avoiding something that could have demonstrably helped me live a better life (not to mention the effects of my wife’s sleep too!).

And I behaved that way because I was afraid of becoming my dad, of following his path down a road of ill health and unhappiness. Of getting old. Of fading.

This is, in a word, dumb. For a few reasons. First, I am not my dad — CPAP machine or not. Second, aging is inevitable. You choose how you react to that fact.

For a very long time, my view was that by ignoring the fact I was getting older would somehow arrest the hands of time. Again, dumb. But I had convinced myself of its reality.

Age — or at least the process off getting older — was something to fear. There was NOTHING good about it.

But, I am — slowly — coming to realize that age doesn’t have to mean decline. I think I am writing some of the best stuff of my career at this point, largely because I have seen a lot and, generally speaking, know a lot about politics. I am more confident that my future will be bright because I know my value better. I am an improved dad and husband because the years have taught me some hard lessons.

I have age to thank for all of those things.

A lot of this is about getting out of your own way. Just allowing yourself to be ok with what comes at you on a daily, weekly or monthly basis. Knowing that a) life will throw up roadblocks in front of you and b) you will be able to make your way through or over them somehow.

I wasted a decade of good sleep because I was living in fear. No more. I will proudly turn my CPAP machine on tonight, and be thankful for another day when I get up tomorrow. And, hopefully, a whole lot more tomorrows.