I've become 40, my audience is partly the same age.

"I've become 40, my audience is partly the same age." — so spoke Jean-Claude Van Damme, the warrior of cinema, whose strength was forged in the disciplines of the body and whose fame rose like a blazing comet across the horizon of the 1980s. At first glance, these words may seem simple — a mere observation about time and fans. But beneath their quiet tone lies a profound truth about the bond between artist and audience, the passage of years, and the sacred dance of change that unites all who live, grow, and age beneath the same sun.

In the style of the ancients, one might say: the man who begins his journey with the people will one day walk beside them as equals in age and memory. For when Van Damme spoke these words, he was not merely acknowledging the number of his years; he was recognizing the shared passage of time between himself and those who had watched him rise, struggle, and endure. The boy who once thrilled at his high kicks and feats of courage had grown into a man — and so had the hero himself. The audience and the actor had aged together, each carrying the marks of their own battles, triumphs, and transformations.

There is something deeply human — and humbling — in that realization. Fame, though it often seems eternal, is bound by time just as life is. When the youthful idol of the screen reaches middle age, the mirror of the world reflects not only his image but the collective aging of a generation. Van Damme’s films — Bloodsport, Kickboxer, Timecop — were not just stories of combat, but metaphors of endurance. And when he later said, “I’ve become 40, my audience is partly the same age,” he was paying homage to those who had grown alongside him, who had drawn strength from his youth and now found comfort in his maturity.

Age, in this sense, becomes not a decline, but a bridge. It unites artist and admirer in shared experience. For though the muscles may soften and the glory of youth fade, something deeper replaces them — understanding. The warrior of youth becomes the philosopher of middle age. In his humility, Van Damme reminds us that greatness is not only found in the fiery rise, but in the graceful acceptance of the years that follow. To grow older is to grow closer to one’s people — to cease being a distant idol and become instead a mirror of their own lives.

History offers many echoes of this truth. Consider Sophocles, the great dramatist of Athens, who wrote Antigone in his youth and Oedipus at Colonus in his old age. His early works burned with passion and rebellion; his later ones, with wisdom and reconciliation. As he aged, so did his audience. They who had once seen their struggles reflected in the impetuousness of youth now found themselves moved by the serenity of age. Thus, the artist’s journey mirrors the collective journey of his time. The audience grows not apart from him, but through him. And so it was with Van Damme — once the symbol of invincible youth, later the embodiment of endurance, redemption, and acceptance.

The lesson in his words, therefore, is both tender and profound: do not mourn the passing of youth, but embrace the transformation it brings. Just as Van Damme’s audience matured with him, so too must we learn that growth is not separation, but continuation. The fire of youth becomes the light of wisdom; the power that once conquered mountains becomes the grace that teaches others to climb. Each stage of life has its own rhythm, its own beauty, its own kind of strength. To deny age is to deny the fullness of the journey.

And so, my child, remember this: to age is not to lose — it is to deepen. The warrior becomes the teacher, the idol becomes the companion, and the years that pass become the fabric that binds us all. As Jean-Claude Van Damme said, we grow not alone, but together — each of us reflecting the other’s becoming. Let time be not your enemy, but your mentor. Make peace with the mirror, honor the path that brought you here, and know that those who once admired your strength will one day walk beside you in shared wisdom. For the greatest bond in life — as in art — is not the glory of youth, but the companionship of time.