What is your approach to aging with its prospects and potential.?
Mine is evolving daily.
I found this interesting observation in two paragraphs on PubMed:
Gerontologists seem to divide themselves into two warring categories: poets versus pathologists. The former consider the phenomenon of aging as a part of life, a normal stage in human development, and often portray it as a positive process. For example, those who hold such views will characteristically quote the English poet Robert Browning: “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made.”
If the poets tend to be purveyors of the social sciences, for their part the pathologists are usually doctors or biologists. As far as they can see, aging is a negative process resulting in an increase in biological entropy, decreased reserve, a higher chance of illness and ultimately death. That being said, their laureate is of no less distinguished lineage, with Shakespeare outlining “Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history. … Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
- From a review by A. Mark Clarfield, MD, of Contesting Aging & Loss. Janice E Graham, Peter H Stephenson, editors. University of Toronto Press; 2010, in CMAJ. 2011 Jul 12; 183(10): E693–E694. on PubMed
While the experience of my physical deterioration causes me to seek out and respect the perspective of pathologists, my inner longings and predispositions cry out for poetry.
I am going to live out this drama as poetically as possible.
“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!” - Browning from Rabbi Ben Ezra
Consider Nelson Mandela, his maturing process, transformation through suffering, development of a leader from freedom fighter to peacemaker and reconciling force, his humility, humor, and humanity.
"My take-away" is not to be a hero worshiper, though we do need heroes and he is one of mine, nor to view him as larger than life, though he became larger than life.
He was, after all, in his own estimation, just a man, a sinner like the rest of us who required grace, but who rose above fear, prejudice, and the sound of the word, "impossible." He was an "every-man," unique, but not so unique that we stand hopeless and helpless in his shadow.
My "take-away" is to reflect upon my own life and potential and those of others.
Imagine 27 years in prison being made better rather than bitter, embracing ones captors, and being shaped in thought and resolve. Imagine myself or yourself, being released at an age when most are retiring with a mandate to start one's career, begin ones mission, and take up ones calling.
He walked out of prison as an old man, but he did not abandon his passion for living or for leading,
We cannot afford the lustful luxury of retribution, bitterness, or revenge. We cannot afford to nurture animosity or enemy status among our opponents. We ca not afford to marginalize, polarize, or ostracize people. It is neither virtuous nor pragmatically sound.
Nor can we retire with the notion that we are done. We are not done; we've only begun!
I will be 68 in a few weeks and I see these years as a time of preparation. I am not finished. I am just beginning. Mandela had 25 more years to make a difference. We may have much more. We have been in the process of being shaped so that we may be ready to serve.
You have been shaped and are being shaped. What about you? What about me?
Retirement is out of the question. Renewal is what lies before us. Let us who are ordering "senior coffee" embrace the second halves of our lives and live: live well, live long, live healthy, and live for God and others.
The past has passed and is past. Now is a present gift. Tomorrow is a vast frontier of uncharted possibilities for which we have been shaped that we might shape it.
Pressed for what happened to him in prison to change him from the man he was to the man he became, Mandela replied, "I matured."
Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra was one of the great Jewish poets and scholars of the 12th century. His works included a wide body of literature on topics such as grammar and astronomy. In his poem, Browning does not attempt a biography, but a reflection of paradox centered in a divine reality.
Everyone comes to this with their own perspective and, even John Lennon brought his own to the table when he composed his musical reflection on the theme.
We live; we suffer; we grow; we produce fruit. Wherever we are in the process, let us bear fruit and make a difference.
We are becoming.
Beyond alarm, beyond our pain, beyond all that is immediate in our lives is gratitude and submission. God has given us so much; all of Himself. We wonder what on earth we could do to show ourselves grateful.
Even the psalmist weighs in, reflecting over life.
First, he says, we take the gift.
We take the cup of salvation.
We call on the Name of the LORD.
First, we receive. The first act of gratitude is to receive the gift being offered.
Then, we worship, we pay our vows. We do it in the presence of the people. We live our lives of faith and devotion to God openly, fearlessly, and purposefully.
Then, we live our lives until we die and, when we die, it is precious because it is day of completion. It is the day of culmination for our efforts and witness. It is the day when we begin the next journey of eternal thanksgiving and praise.
We are His servants. He has loosed our bonds. We sing. We worship.
"I said in my alarm,
'All mankind are liars.'
What shall I render to the LORD
for all his benefits to me?
I will lift up the cup of salvation
and call on the name of the LORD,
I will pay my vows to the LORD
in the presence of all his people.
Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his saints.
O LORD, I am your servant;
I am your servant, the son of your maidservant.
You have loosed my bonds.
I will offer to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving
and call on the name of the LORD.
I will pay my vows to the LORD
in the presence of all his people,
in the courts of the house of the LORD,
in your midst, O Jerusalem.
Praise the LORD!"
-Psalm 116:11-19 (ESV)
I am confident that we can grow younger in our hearts, more aware in our observsati0ns, more childlike in our wonder, sharper in our wisdom, kinder in our patience, and more productive in our thinking.
And, we can live until we die!
Rabbi Ben Ezra
BY ROBERT BROWNING
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith "A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!''
Not that, amassing flowers,
Youth sighed "Which rose make ours,
Which lily leave and then as best recall?"
Not that, admiring stars,
It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars;
Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!"
Not for such hopes and fears
Annulling youth's brief years,
Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!
Rather I prize the doubt
Low kinds exist without,
Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.
Poor vaunt of life indeed,
Were man but formed to feed
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast:
Such feasting ended, then
As sure an end to men;
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?
Rejoice we are allied
To That which doth provide
And not partake, effect and not receive!
A spark disturbs our clod;
Nearer we hold of God
Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.
Then, welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!
Be our joys three-parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
For thence,—a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,—
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.
What is he but a brute
Whose flesh has soul to suit,
Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play?
To man, propose this test—
Thy body at its best,
How far can that project thy soul on its lone way?
Yet gifts should prove their use:
I own the Past profuse
Of power each side, perfection every turn:
Eyes, ears took in their dole,
Brain treasured up the whole;
Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn?"
Not once beat "Praise be Thine!
I see the whole design,
I, who saw power, see now love perfect too:
Perfect I call Thy plan:
Thanks that I was a man!
Maker, remake, complete,—I trust what Thou shalt do!"
For pleasant is this flesh;
Our soul, in its rose-mesh
Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest;
Would we some prize might hold
To match those manifold
Possessions of the brute,—gain most, as we did best!
Let us not always say,
"Spite of this flesh to-day
I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"
As the bird wings and sings,
Let us cry "All good things
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!"
Therefore I summon age
To grant youth's heritage,
Life's struggle having so far reached its term:
Thence shall I pass, approved
A man, for aye removed
From the developed brute; a god though in the germ.
And I shall thereupon
Take rest, ere I be gone
Once more on my adventure brave and new:
Fearless and unperplexed,
When I wage battle next,
What weapons to select, what armour to indue.
Youth ended, I shall try
My gain or loss thereby;
Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold:
And I shall weigh the same,
Give life its praise or blame:
Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.
For note, when evening shuts,
A certain moment cuts
The deed off, calls the glory from the grey:
A whisper from the west
Shoots—"Add this to the rest,
Take it and try its worth: here dies another day."
So, still within this life,
Though lifted o'er its strife,
Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last,
This rage was right i' the main,
That acquiescence vain:
The Future I may face now I have proved the Past."
For more is not reserved
To man, with soul just nerved
To act to-morrow what he learns to-day:
Here, work enough to watch
The Master work, and catch
Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.
As it was better, youth
Should strive, through acts uncouth,
Toward making, than repose on aught found made:
So, better, age, exempt
From strife, should know, than tempt
Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death nor be afraid!
Enough now, if the Right
And Good and Infinite
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own
With knowledge absolute,
Subject to no dispute
From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone.
Be there, for once and all,
Severed great minds from small,
Announced to each his station in the Past!
Was I, the world arraigned,
Were they, my soul disdained,
Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last!
Now, who shall arbitrate?
Ten men love what I hate,
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive;
Ten, who in ears and eyes
Match me: we all surmise,
They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe?
Not on the vulgar mass
Called "work," must sentence pass,
Things done, that took the eye and had the price;
O'er which, from level stand,
The low world laid its hand,
Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:
But all, the world's coarse thumb
And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account;
All instincts immature,
All purposes unsure,
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount:
Thoughts hardly to be packed
Into a narrow act,
Fancies that broke through language and escaped;
All I could never be,
All, men ignored in me,
This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Ay, note that Potter's wheel,
That metaphor! and feel
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay,—
Thou, to whom fools propound,
When the wine makes its round,
"Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!"
Fool! All that is, at all,
Lasts ever, past recall;
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:
What entered into thee,
That was, is, and shall be:
Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.
He fixed thee mid this dance
Of plastic circumstance,
This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest:
Machinery just meant
To give thy soul its bent,
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.
What though the earlier grooves,
Which ran the laughing loves
Around thy base, no longer pause and press?
What though, about thy rim,
Skull-things in order grim
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?
Look not thou down but up!
To uses of a cup,
The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,
The new wine's foaming flow,
The Master's lips a-glow!
Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what need'st thou with earth's wheel?
But I need, now as then,
Thee, God, who mouldest men;
And since, not even while the whirl was worst,
Did I,—to the wheel of life
With shapes and colours rife,
Bound dizzily,—mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst:
So, take and use Thy work:
Amend what flaws may lurk,
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!
My times be in Thy hand!
Perfect the cup as planned!
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!