Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a poet who frequently explored the mysteries of life in his poems, also celebrated the satisfaction that can be found in the later years of life.
His perspective symbolizes the search for an understanding of aging and life satisfaction for those of us who get older.
His writing about life, with its profound power and inspiring messages, can sometimes ignite a sense of purpose, at least in me.
One of the challenges of enjoying life is that our culture teaches us a very different lesson – most often, it means we are losing something and rarely hear about what we might be gaining.
We all know the obvious frightening things about aging—getting sick and, of course, dying in Corporate Health Care America.
Our last major contribution to life is feeding the ravenous hunger and profits of billionaires and their companies. It’s expensive to die in America. But I’ve found a lot more to it than that.
Our lives in society are aimed either at youth or middle age, the ages of advancement, ambition, influence, and reward. That’s when the dye is cast; the last-sought opportunities present themselves.
Until recently, I hadn’t heard anyone suggest that quieter times, quieter lives, and time alone could be a guide, a companion, and a rich and meaningful reward for a new stage of life. “Old News” is almost always bad news.
Older people are no longer long-range consumers. They don’t buy much.
I am astonished by my old age, all it has given me and done for me, and how it has changed me for the better, bringing love and joy to a loveless and selfish existence.
I never heard about this possibility until I was up to my neck in it and breaking down after decades of struggle and worry.
To live into the mystery of life, I had to break free from the confines of the other life with its social pressures and struggles, public and personal roles and demands, ambitions, competitions, jealousies, and protocols.
The rules of life were pounded into me, and I didn’t know better; I had no idea how to live in all the freedoms and opportunities life suddenly offered.
I never knew that despite its troubles—and yes, it’s suffering—there was also so much more to getting older. I won’t retire, at least not voluntarily.
I work hard daily, but my time is also becoming increasingly my own, and I love that. I am free to be myself, to learn, to grow, and to change.
I am learning that money is important, but not everything, that new friendships and new kinds of friendships are waiting for me, new work will challenge me, and that new love will comfort me.
Who could have imagined how much I, of all people, would love taking pictures of flowers? I have a much bigger heart and soul than I knew or permitted myself to know.
The mystery is when do I permit life to evolve rather than fighting so hard to make it happen? I was astonished by what I found waiting for me.
I love Joan Chittister’s description of aging:
“It is a stranger knocking at the door, the sudden sight of an unceremoniously blooming flower.”
It is for me an afternoon in the yard, a walk in the woods, a book to read, a picture to take, a hand to hold, a dog to keep me company, things to write, an afternoon of reading and thinking, good to do, a time to love and be loved.
To see. To think. To watch. To write. To make the things I want count for something other than me.
Time is my god and goddess now, and I am learning to cherish the rich texture of life. I’m not wasting so much time wanting things I don’t need and can never have. Every day counts.
Before, almost everything was unnerving, urgent, and suffocating, frightening.
Being older is different for me. I am experiencing life in ways I never dreamed of or thought possible.
There is little in life that is all good or all bad, it is never that simple or predictable. For me, this is a time of possibilities, and I am learning to take time very seriously and not to waste another hour of it.
I’m learning that the mystery of aging cannot be solved, only lived. At the end of life, the mystery is right there for me to embrace and explore.
I hope it’s not more than the soul can hold. So far, so good.
