When you are my age, nearing the half-century mark (which is, by the way, 1/20th of a millennium), you notice that time has left its mark on you. The youthful appearance you once possessed has fled. All that is left is the haggard, road-weary countenance of someone much older than you feel. Where did that kid get off to?
Having absconded with your appearance, the kid also took other things, pilfering here and there as he laid his plans to leave town. My youthful vigor? Gone. My sense of adventure? Gone, too. Various and sundry passions? Also gone. Many of the things which associated me with those post-pubescent years, the sunrise years of adulthood, are missing.
Decay is a sad thing to behold. It’s usually not noticed unless time is condensed. Take two periods of time, years distant from one another. Remove everything in between so they sit side-by-side and the comparison will show you that time ravages everything it touches, and it touches everything. Your childhood home, once sheltering loved ones from the elements and from ruffians, now falls into a heap. Go to a class reunion and see how the beautiful young women have devolved into middle-aged has-beens, rode hard and put up wet. Handsome young men have been replaced by beer-bellied, bald-headed old men with puffy jowls and gym bags under their eyes.
Old age also leads its victims into a delusional state. They disregard the evidences of age and feel as if time has not moved along. Women think they are still hot. Men have dreams of easily winning the affections of younger women. Tricked by time, these poor souls wander to and fro, sweating drops of desperation. The odor can be sickening to those grounded in reality, but more often it results in pity. Poor oblivious suckers.
Hopefully as we age, our tastes mature. Women aren’t compelled to dress in ridiculous ways. Men compare the ages of younger women to their children and grandchildren. Unable to defeat Father Time, we invite him in for a cup of coffee and a piece of cake. We will hopefully acknowledge that aging gracefully is to be coveted and revered. Time marches on, so deal with it. As for me, I feel like a twenty-something in the body of a forty-something. I’ve never felt older. Granted, I do look older, but what can I do about that? A radical comb-over? A neglected membership at a gym? No, I choose to accept the hand I’m dealt. While I will not choose to advance the process of advancing by dissipation, I will deal with life as it comes and I will seek to enjoy it until it ends.
When the inevitability of aging surrounds us and we aren’t swept away by delusion, we will either succumb to defeat and allow it to rob our life of joy and meaning or we will embrace it as being part of that life. Getting old has always been a part of life. The only ones who have left this life without doing battle with Father Time have left it prematurely, not having seen what many believe to be the best years of it all. Getting old has is rewards, too. Older people have confidence. They have wisdom (hopefully). They have experience. They have good friendships that have endured for years and shine like hand-rubbed mahogany. Older people can slow down and enjoy the richness of life, savoring each moment. All young people have is looks and energy.
Old people that load up in a motor home and tool around the country, spending the wealth they’ve acquired over the last 30 or 40 years of saving, are shameful. Seniors should be plugged in to younger generations, teaching and passing on wisdom, not tooling around in a gashog monstrosity, feasting on the fat of the land. Senior adults who live this self-indulgent type of life are partially responsible for the ignorance of present generations. We are presently raising children and young adults on a diet that is free of wisdom. Experience is not always the best teacher. Someone else’s experience is usually better, granted we have the smarts to learn from their mistakes.
I said that old, selfish people are only partially responsible for the ignorance of present generations. This is because younger generations bask in their ignorance. They proudly look on previous generations as more ignorant and without anything of value to offer them. These unteachable masses will soon enough reap a harvest of pain and suffering, without anyone to blame but themselves.
So I look in the mirror and wonder at the value of those lines, the sagging flesh, and those latter-day bulges. If I consider myself wiser than I was--if I consider each trial, each tribulation to be of value--then I’ve done well. One cannot hang onto youth any more than you can hold water in your hand. It slips through, no matter how hard you try to keep it. If you are one of those rare young people who covet wisdom and the richness which maturity bring to life, be patient. There is no fast track, no shortcut, to wisdom. There are shorter routes, but even the shortest routes are decades long.
The best advice I can give a younger person is to be mindful of who you are and where you are at all times. Think long and hard about what kind of person you want to be, and let everything you do move you toward that goal. Be today's version of the kind of person you want to be. It is my hope that you never reach that specific goal. My hope is that by the time you get there, you have fine-tuned that goal at regular intervals, replacing unimportant features with more important ones as your priorities have changed, as you have matured. I am nothing like I wanted to be in my youth, but I’m happy where I am and I have no regrets.
No regrets. I like the sound of that. I’d rather have that than youth any day.
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