When you're young you seldom thing about becoming old, maybe never, but unless some event happens to interrupt our lives--we grow old. My next birthday I'll be 67 years old, or to quote Mark Twain, "nearly so if I'm dead". I figure I have about 14 years left, maybe not all of that in the relatively good health I now enjoy. So I wonder, "what's ahead?"
Being older is a strange place, because I don't think of myself as old. In spirit, within the confines of our head, most of us think of ourselves as young. I still relate well to the younger set. I work part-time, and most of the people I work with, better than half, are under thirty; indeed, several are under twenty five. I'm the different one, separated by age, and their attitudes towards me remind me of that always. No unkindness, but a tacit acknowledgement of the age gap on their part. It matters not how I perceive myself, outwardly I waste away.
Yet, do I wish to be younger? No. Although I am understanding my age insofar as aches and pains, I wouldn't trade my experiences, my knowledge and the portion of wisdom that I have accrued in my nearly 67 years for youth: For what? To go through life again? I think not. Talking to young people is like trying to fill a wine vat with a teaspoon: You want to impart to them your knowledge, experiences, your wisdom, but you realize that most of what has been learned that's worthwhile is gained only with time. What they learn in great part must come from their experiences. It'll happen, but there are few shortcuts.
Do I fear death? No, but I do fear dying, but only because of the spectre of suffering. Behind me as I write is a large photo of my dad dated May 6th 1938, leaning casually on his Nash roadster, a youth of 25 years. In his last years, he suffered a series of small strokes which slowly robbed him of his life and vitality. He who was intelligent and humorous became helpless and unable to care for himself. For some time I went twice a day to his apartment, got him out of bed and cleaned and dressed him, and took his soiled bed linen and washed it. It was a burden, yet I treasure the memory. I wonder: Will my children be so honored? In some ways, I hope so. In others, no.
Certainly 2014 was the year I came to realize that I really don't have all that I had in youth, that the body deteriorates. My strength has deteriorated to the point I can't "whip my weight in wildcats" any more, and a younger assailant may well take me down, unless I'm willing to cheat (and I am!). I realize that I'm perhaps (and this is harder to admit) not as quick mentally as I once was.
2014 was a wake-up call in other ways as well. My sister died, my wife's uncle died and her oldest sister died. We're entering the age of funerals and memorials, Those are the 'awards ceremonies' we will likely be attending in the coming years. I haven't lost any of my close friends yet, but that's around the corner as well-- unless of course my close friends lose me first. Old people talk about their aches, pains, and medical problems. When I was young, I wondered why, but now as I've reached that age, now I know why they talked about them so much: First, health and maintaining it becomes a priority, an always in-your-face situation, and second, everyone of my age has health problems. It's just the way it is.
I looked at google earth the other night, thought I would try to find something worthwhile to discover or research. As I zoomed in from, I don't know, five thousand miles above the earth to near where we live, it left me with this uncomfortable feeling of how small I am, something less than a pinprick on a pinprick in this universe. Reminded me of the time we flew to Washington D.C.. As I looked out the window from thirty thousand feet, I saw this little town, maybe in Indiana or Kansas somewhere with its grid of streets, and I thought to myself that somewhere in that little knot of civilization, there was someone who took great pride in being one of the leading citizens, on how he or she had had his or her way with the city council, or maybe had swung some big real estate deal. But even from a mere 30,000 feet their accomplishments became insignificant. "For what shall it profit a man...?".
As I grow older I find I don't crave material possessions--as much. The urge to get stuff is still there, but the breadth of the desire is narrower. I've gone through the motorcycle phase; the old car phase; the fast car phase, even the big house phase, and probably a few other phases I can't recall. But those things just don't mean as much as they once did. I've realized that much of what I bought and did were done for the approval of others. I remember an old woman I used to see driving around our neighborhood in a Cadillac sedan, when Cadillacs were still huge. Her hair was carefully coiffured, the car was large and immaculate, and she practically sat sideways in the drivers seat facing the window so everyone could see her. I don't want to be remembered like that.
Another poignant remembrance was a visit to an elderly couple who lived in a large, wonderful home in a very affluent area near us. They were both in ill health. He said to me, "All our lives we worked hard so we could have these nice things, and now we are too old and sick to enjoy them." I hope he didn't exit this world with that lament, that his life came to mean more than the sum of his possessions, and his big house.
As you grow older your focus changes, you shift gears (downshift, that is). My interest in stuff has lessened, and my interest in people has blossomed. We have good friends in prison, and we visit them monthly; I have a homeless friend, "Bible Mike", whom I see from time to time and help out, give him money, sometimes clothes, and once even a bicycle. And I see others and have a greater compassion for them, even people I don't know well, like my co-workers. I have a son and a daughter, and we are learning to be better parents, in-laws, and grandparents. You never stop learning with those titles.
The saying is, "Time flies when you're having fun." To which I would add, "...and when you're not". I wouldn't trade my experiences, especially in retrospect. Life is short when viewed from the far end. Making good use of it is more than being young and having good times. All experiences in life are (or should be) important for what they teach. I would argue that looking back is as valuable as looking forward. To be young again? Nah. First, it's not possible; second, I'd have to run the Gauntlet of Life all over again, and third, who needs it? I've already been here.
