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I think a long life is cruel. Living to age 53 or so is just right for me.
My wife's maternal grandfather made it to 102, and at 100 he said to her, 'kid, living this long isn't what it's cracked up to be. Isn't there just a pill I can take or something?'
His wife, one of his daughters (my wife's mother), and virtually all his business associates and colleagues and friends were dead by then. He was living in a shared room in a nursing home with some guy who was demented and bellowing all the time.
So ... there's a point of diminishing returns, though I've observed people under 40 often greatly over-estimating how fast they'll reach it.
I've been keeping in mind a saying I heard; aging is a privilege. It's true in my case. I know many people who died young so as I age I feel privileged that I'm still here.
I'm humbled to see my once strong and smooth body is aging. So I try to roll with it instead of feeling sad for what I lost. If we're lucky we will get old and our bodies will age, it happens to everyone.
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Originally Posted by mordant
My wife's maternal grandfather made it to 102, and at 100 he said to her, 'kid, living this long isn't what it's cracked up to be. Isn't there just a pill I can take or something?'
His wife, one of his daughters (my wife's mother), and virtually all his business associates and colleagues and friends were dead by then. He was living in a shared room in a nursing home with some guy who was demented and bellowing all the time.
So ... there's a point of diminishing returns, though I've observed people under 40 often greatly over-estimating how fast they'll reach it.
I am glad someone had the guts to mention this, all too often we hear " the longer the show the better it gets".
Yes, there comes a point of diminishing returns. I much rather go out in full capacity than fading as the years go by with someone having to help with my daily bathroom needs or eating needs. That is no way to exit the world gracefully. When I was in my youth I always said I wanted to leave this world late 40s or early 50s. I am 52 now and if fate says its my time to go I would very much welcome this with relief.
Only had my grandmother influence my being for five years. Her favorite sayings emulate through out my life though. One that she inserted from time to time was ; ' as it should'.
When I was frustrated that I couldn't fix the chain on my bike, she'd look at me and say ' as it should' . Every stage or phase we go thru is ' as it should' .
Even when at 16 I had my first serious relationship, I'd come to find a pure nieve love. ( As it should).
When I wept with an abundance of awe holding my first born . It was ' as it should'.
I do think each person has there own ( *as it should) and that's where life humbles us.
When I lost my parent , that grief tore my heart out and left me defeated. (As it should).
Now when listening to my grand daughter get flustered that her training wheel is wobbly, I quietly say... As it should.
I'm 64, which places me in late middle age or early old age. Talk about a distinction without a difference .
There's a poem by Donald Justice called "Men at forty". It could apply to anyone. The first stanza is something like,
Men at forty
learn to softly close
the doors to rooms
they won't be coming back to.
The poem goes on to use the image of the man resting on the stair landing, the implication being he needs to rest from fatigue or the weight of it all, or maybe to reflect, and that he might have just kept climbing without pause a year or five earlier. I read the poem in my 40s and I suspect I had been looking for it because I had for some time thought about last times. Last times being either the literal last time I did or experienced something, or the last time it seemed fresh. Those last times mostly went without any real consideration, and certainly without any internal ceremony. They were just out there somewhere in unmarked graves.
So I became determined to mark those times I closed doors to rooms I won't be coming back to, and when in doubt to at least consider the possibility that some moment might be the last time, and to savor it . Like taking a very old dog for a walk.
It may seem morbid, but it's motivating. Not just to savor the last times as they occur, but to consciously create one more time when being busy or just unaware makes it less likely to occur. Not to force anything. Like I've never run a marathon so I don't feel any need to train for one now, but maybe one more 5K without any thought of the time and just to be a runner preparing and doing and recuperating. And at 64 there would be some recuperating
The idea of getting beat up on a 5K run and needing to recuperate is humbling I guess, but it's also satisfying. Knowing that something won't last forever, and ****, that I won't, makes it kind of precious.
You did well. I won't have a pension or kids. The kids thing really bothers me, but it's too late now. The marriage thing hasn't worked out well for me thusfar either. I have so many regrets and I think thats why aging bothers me so much. Not enough time left to recover and make up for those regrets/have new positive memories to replace them.
Thank you. But at 53 you are still young enough to do whatever you want. Where there is life, there is hope. When I graduated from grammar school my uncle wrote in my autograph book:
Yesterday is dead, forget it.
Tomorrow isn't here yet, don't worry about it.
Today is here, live it.
I think a long life is cruel. Living to age 53 or so is just right for me.
If that is your attitude, then you're right - it could be cruel. Life is what you make of it.
I'm on the cusp of 53 and life has never been better. I chalk it up mainly to making overall sound choices in life - personal, professional, and definitely health-related.
Age, to me, is a number... a measurement of time that has passed. Nothing more, nothing less.
Way I see it - and experience it - if you feel young, you ARE young... if you feel old, well... you know the rest.
Humbling, yes. With age comes far more circumspection about the extent of our abilities, our influence, our importance. We see ourselves as being less “special” and more generic, replaceable, commoditized. Eventually we come to accept this.
But I find my present tastes, priorities, frustrations and fears, to actually be very similar, to what they were say 30 years ago. There’s more nuance and attention to side-effects, to complications, to degrees of success. But the desires themselves are the same.
To give a simple example, the teenage-me or young-adult-me craved a light-weight, nimble car with ferocious acceleration. I didn’t care about comfort or so-called practicality. The objective was something that was fun to drive, and not something stylish or that impressed others. The same remains true today! Unfortunately I’m not really any closer to my goal. Instead I regard that goal as being less possible and less attainable, despite having more money and more free-time and more experience. What has NOT happened is a “mature” letting-go of said goal, as something that’s not a high priority and not an essential thing in life.
The result is dissatisfaction. For the young-adult-me, realization of the goal could be delayed until finishing school, getting a proper job, saving some money and so on. For the middle-aged me, the goal has just festered. For what else ought I to be waiting? What else ought to “click”? It feels like a ceaseless waiting, for nothing in particular. The teenaged-me has a future towards which to look, delaying instant gratification in favor of improving this eventual future. The preset-me, has all of the frustrations of youth, absent the hope.
Humbling, yes. With age comes far more circumspection about the extent of our abilities, our influence, our importance. We see ourselves as being less “special” and more generic, replaceable, commoditized. Eventually we come to accept this.
But I find my present tastes, priorities, frustrations and fears, to actually be very similar, to what they were say 30 years ago. There’s more nuance and attention to side-effects, to complications, to degrees of success. But the desires themselves are the same.
To give a simple example, the teenage-me or young-adult-me craved a light-weight, nimble car with ferocious acceleration. I didn’t care about comfort or so-called practicality. The objective was something that was fun to drive, and not something stylish or that impressed others. The same remains true today! Unfortunately I’m not really any closer to my goal. Instead I regard that goal as being less possible and less attainable, despite having more money and more free-time and more experience. What has NOT happened is a “mature” letting-go of said goal, as something that’s not a high priority and not an essential thing in life.
The result is dissatisfaction. For the young-adult-me, realization of the goal could be delayed until finishing school, getting a proper job, saving some money and so on. For the middle-aged me, the goal has just festered. For what else ought I to be waiting? What else ought to “click”? It feels like a ceaseless waiting, for nothing in particular. The teenaged-me has a future towards which to look, delaying instant gratification in favor of improving this eventual future. The preset-me, has all of the frustrations of youth, absent the hope.
I relate, particularly to your last sentence. My one hope is to move out of the U.S. and experience a new culture. Actually, it won't be new since it will be Latin America and I grew up in South Florida. But it will be a FUN new challenge learning Spanish and making Spanish friends, who in my estimation are more inclusive than Americans. I look forward to that and it gives me a glimmer of hope that I'll enjoy life again.
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