the art of aging

The Art of Aging

     As if I have anything to do about aging or perpetuating life, and if I did I would have made millions and would probably be dead by now from fanciful eating or greed of others for what I have, or maybe it would be from lavishing myself in such a comfortable style that soon I would no longer exert any effort to afford myself those things in life I need but instead rely on others to provide them for me.

     Instead my life is a constant struggle, sometimes not easy and this mostly by my own design. having earlier in life thwarted any attempts at trying to make it easier, instead when I was younger, would laze away the hours and my youth in ways that was self-destructive in terms of imbibing myself with whiskey, weed and wild women, when i should have been setting my nose to the grindstone so to speak and working to provide myself with a better way.   

     I would have moments of lucidity where I would work and think of my future but it hasn’t been till I was older and my body began to think in terms of maybe I will become an old man, that I began to become scared of who and what I am as a person heading down an uncertain path. But by then the chain of events that make me who I am were already in place.

    The past is history and can no longer offer me any physical nutrient, but instead enlighten me with mental and emotional sustenance as a predictor  of where i am going as a person. As I head into another birthday and I reflect back on the past year, I have the opportunity to once again wonder where I am headed and if I have a chance to steer my course through the rough seas of life as the waves toss you around or am I merely a passenger on the Titanic just looking to switch seats to get a better view of the iceberg of death looming over the horizon.  

     I admire those people who are the same age as me and who have their life arranged in ways that every possibility of how it is going to turn out is so predetermined that nothing is left to chance. For me chance is my best friend as well as fate and destiny, as it seems I am no longer in control as fate and destiny have left little chance for me to proceed in any other way.

      Is that so bad? No not really as I am not going to allow myself to wallow in self-pity as I go forward or lament in what I have done wrong that has lead me here, instead as I grow older I see that even if things were prearranged and so tidy that I left no other option but to grow old gracefully, then life would come along and set me straight.

     Heart attacks and strokes would befall me or perhaps a major disease or perhaps an accident may have taken me out early as is the case with some I have known for years.  I have surpassed my real dad’s age when he died of alcoholism and an ill mind, and I am creeping up on my grandpas age when he as a perfect as a man as I have ever seen was taken away at the young age of sixty five. I am or will be fifty eight tomorrow, just seven years short of his full life.

      So what is the art of aging?  The art of aging is waking up in the morning and being thankful for another day. The pain associated with moving is just a reminder of how thankful one should be that it isn’t worse. You are much better than those that have passed before you and surely much wiser than those that still have a life to go. You have learned to accept things as opposed to someone who has contemplated suicide which was always an option to you but you choose to never accept because you always had options and life was one. You choose to live and that is what brings you to this point.

      It is learning to accept those things which you have no control over and yet striving to change the things you can. It is learning to wonder in lessons nature has to offer us, as it is nature that offers insight as to where we really stand in reality. What we perceive from a human point of view is quickly distorted when we look at nature and really see how small or how large an impact our lives really have on the scheme of things.

      We are told and taught in our early years how important our human lives are but that in an instant we can be swept up and incinerated as we lay with our dreams at night in the security of our home. Our lives left in the rubble of ashes. Yet we know how our emotions can spill over to cry over a lost animal as much as if we lost someone so dear to us. Learning the hard way to accept loss in our life as it becomes much more frequent as we become older and cling to those things we hold dearest.

    And finally accept that we and the world would be much better off to be gone and pass with dignity, if we are not able to take care of ourselves and instead rely on others clinging to the hope that life will again be better for us someday. It is at this point that  I hope they pull the plug and celebrate my life in a way to remember those moments when I may have did good and forget the wrong I have done in life. That the rights will far outweigh the wrongs and that this will be my legacy only to last in the minds of those that will remember me.

     This unfortunately is the art of aging.  The end to a means. The acceptance of the finality we have so pressed upon ourselves from our birth. My time is coming but I hope to hold the wolves away from my door for many a day to come if only to step outside and breath in the dew of another new day. Happy Birthday to me.