In his essay on old age, Cicero has Cato the Elder lecture on the advantages of growing old. Reading it, you would think that the best is yet to come. Not so, however, for Cicero. His involvement in Roman politics resulted in him fleeing for his life from Mark Antony’s henchmen. When they caught up with him, they severed his hands and head, and Antony had the body parts displayed in the forum, just to let Romans know who was boss.
We can do better than that.
Cicero made it to age 63. I’ve surpassed him by 15 years. Given my seniority, I thought I could add my name to the long list of old-timers who perennially share their hard-earned wisdom with posterity.
So here goes. This is what you can expect.
Past a certain age you become sentimental. By that I mean you shed tears at the slightest provocation. I have watched You’ve Got Mail a half dozen times, yet in the final scene when Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan finally embrace, and he whispers “Don’t cry, Shop Girl,” my eyes still get wet.
I recently read the 1998 Esquire profile of the children’s television host Mr. Rogers, and when I started to tell my wife about a particularly touching incident, in which Mr. Rogers asks a boy with cerebral palsy to pray for him, I got so choked up I could hardly get the words out.
She went and got a box of tissues.
You not only shed tears, you shed illusions. I know for certain now that I am never going to win a Pulitzer Prize, or be a college dean, or get a Presidential Medal of Freedom. My time has passed. I am not at the center of the universe, I am just a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and soon will be heard no more.
So I am more grateful than ever for the small things that make up a good life: family, friends, a roof over my head. A career is important in the first half of life, not so much on the down side.
You learn to let go of a lot of things. Stuff wears out. My favorite sports coat has a hole in it, my favorite shoes are falling apart.
So too with my body.
Despite going to physical therapy for the past three years, I can sprain a back muscle simply by stubbing my toe. I’m on my second set of hearing aids, my bladder has trained me never to pass up a bathroom, I have cataracts.
You get to the point where you say to yourself, that’s okay, you’re still above ground.
Good for you!
I used to read the New York Times wedding announcements. Now I read the obituaries, and when I see people who died at an age younger than me, I secretly rejoice.
I’m still in the game.
Perhaps most importantly, you come to realize that you were never really in charge. Life, your genes, your unconscious fears and desires, played a large part in what you have become. You will not see me at a microphone singing “My Way.”
Most of the big events in my life were determined by fate.
I can think of three or four times when I made a decision that affected my entire life: my choice of career, getting married, having a child.
Looking back, I realize that forces beyond my control led me to those decisions. What we call free will is shaped by the cards that life dealt us.
We just play the hand we’re given.
Old age is a time for accountability. You do a lot more looking back than looking forward. You can be a young fool and get away with it, but no one has an excuse for being an old fool.
By age 70 you should have recognized your foolish compulsions, your sloppy habits, your needless fears and inhibitions — and done something about it.
You learn to cherish personal relationships. More than ever, they are what make you want to get out of bed in the morning.
Each evening before falling asleep my wife of 41 years and I hold hands. No matter how good or bad the day went, it’s now okay.
I still give a big hug and kiss to my adult son when we meet and when we part, just as I did when he was five.
Some advice:
- Don’t be a grump. Smile at everyone you encounter throughout the day. Smile for no reason at all. You’ll feel better afterwards.
- Laugh at yourself. You’re a player in the great comedy of life. Go visit a friend and tell him or her how much they mean to you.
- Stop along a walk and look around you with glee at the wonder of the world, which you’ll be saying goodbye to soon enough.
Which brings me to my last point.
Old age is a time to make friends with death. You ignored him in your 20s and 30s and you tried to evade him in your 40s and 50s.
When I look in the faces of middle-aged joggers what I see is a desperate attempt to outrun death. But he is always there, sitting on your shoulder, biding his time. Step up and introduce yourself.
You’re going to get to know each other very well.
Just a thought…
Joe
As is the case for most of my posts Mark Pearson has written a song to match the topic. “Old Man” is a song composed in 1973 that he has performed for over five decades.
Maybe I’ll grow a soft snow beard
Maybe a ‘stache crooked and weird
Maybe I’ll keep myself warm in beer
Or maybe I’ll carry a cane
Wear an old fashioned pink carnation.
Or dream under sweet scotch intoxication
But I’m gonna be an old man
That’s all I’ve really got planned.
Back on the top of my list
Wrote it on the back of my wrist
All I really know is when I really grow up
I’ll be an Old Man
Maybe I’ll rock away in some cabin
Rent a flat and play golf in New Haven
Maybe I’ll get some tools for a garden
Or collect tin foil and string
Lose my mind go blind or just turn gray
And like this song kind of fade away
But I’m gonna be an old man
That’s all I’ve really got planned
Back on the top of my list
Wrote it on the back of my wrist
All I really know is when I really grow up
I’ll be an Old Man
Chorus