Last night Basil & I (along with a sleeping Bean) went to our neighborhood French bistro to have dinner with my Manhattanite cousin and his five childhood friends.

My cousin is wonderful. If I could choose a younger brother for myself, it would be him.  He is also a great photographer. He took a photo of Basil smoking sheesha years ago, face lit by a red glow and partially obscured by wisps of smoke. Over the course of dinner last night, it came out that this photo had graced the wall of the apartment my cousin shared with his friends and that Basil was considered the “epitome of cool” in it.

One of the friends looked over at Basil now, with a sleeping toddler strapped to his belly by an embroidered carrier, and blurted out, “I almost didn’t recognize you when you came in. You aren’t that guy anymore.” Basil, looking ruefully down, chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, those days are long gone.”

My cousin and his friends are all in their late 20s, about a decade younger than us. Most of them are unmarried & – if I squint my mind’s eye – I can remember how ancient people approaching 40 seemed to me at that age, and how anyone with a baby existed in a universe I couldn’t fathom.

Now that it’s happening to me though, I’m flabbergasted that we’re being written off as old fogies. It’s true that old age is like the horizon, constantly receding as you approach it – or seen more clearly in relation to others rather than oneself.

On the one hand, their observation is correct. Those days are long gone. But when I look at Basil – who took seven weeks off for paternity leave, who still wakes up to walk the baby back to sleep at night, who cares for and soothes him just as well as me – he is still the epitome of cool because it isn’t limited to appearances anymore. It’s all inward now: someone who is compassionate, trustworthy, fun, and joyful. Not only is he a cool guy & husband, he is a cool dad now too.

My paternal uncle visited us recently from Pakistan, and admired how intimately involved Basil is as a dad, saying, “We didn’t do that when we were young, but we should have. We thought it was the mother’s job.” Through his engaged parenting, Basil changed my uncle’s mind about what it is possible for a man to be, and to aspire to.

I’d like to think that there is a definition of cool that is expansive enough to include a man holding a baby tenderly in an embroidered carrier. When I was in my 20s I stereotyped people based on their age. But now when I look years ahead or behind, I see people who live their lives richly in every circumstance, and at every age. They are stars to navigate my seas of possibility with.

Maybe by living our lives authentically, we can embody possibilities for those who seek our stars too.

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