As We Age

Tim and I had a unique opportunity to leave our lives behind for half a day on Saturday to hike and eat nachos and drive through the mountains. And although I think we always care for one another, it is nice to spend time remembering what, precisely, brought us together in the first place. I think about the people we have become and it is difficult to isolate specific moments in which either of us changed in any drastic manner;. it is a slight alteration over weeks and months and in this way, barely perceptible. But if you asked either of us if we are the same person we were twelve years ago, I think we would agree that we are both drastically altered.

I have been ruminating a lot lately on to what extent change is within our own grasp to control. Can one wake up and decide to practice gratitude and undergo a transformation that makes you unidentifiable to your loved ones and to the world because suddenly you grumble so little about the small things and are shockingly slow to anger? And if something absolutely horrible happens to you--perhaps the worst thing you could ever imagine--can you come through it intact or will you eternally be a shell of the person you were? And will it matter, in the end, if a terrible life event changed you or an intentional decision was made on your part? Whatever event catalyzed the alteration, it seems to me that there is often no return from certain scars and transformations.

But what if the thing that happened to you leaves you less joyful and less jovial? What if you find it more difficult to laugh and you find yourself less open to new friendships and people? What if you look at the world and you find the things you once believed with certainty hold more cynicism and doubt?

As we gain wisdom, can we also catalyze joy and elation? And do they take on different forms than they did when were younger? How about those old people who can still laugh until they pee their pants? What essential truth did they hold onto that now feels elusive?

As I age, can I choose to be vibrant and open? Can I continue to travel and continue to challenge the things that become comfortable?

One of the more difficult things with the passage of time is that we wear our comfort as a security vest without even realizing it. A trip overseas or a new friendship or a move to a new home or city requires a lot of energy to embrace and, I think, we are naturally resistant to such change. But always, always at the end of something that has shook me to the very depths of my soul, I find a new part of myself is uncovered. A new resilience or toughness or passion is unearthed along with the turmoil of finding my roots unearthed.

As we age and we begin to lose those who have defined our own identity, what more is there to uncover? What essential truths keep retired individuals from burying deep into the lazy boy and surfacing only for groceries and trips to the bathroom?

When we are stripped of all our external defining characteristics, are we truly anyone at all? What is at the very marrow of identity if not for the people and things and places we use to define ourselves?

More questions lately than answers. But this is, I suppose, only typical for me. Next week: more questions and absolutely no answers. Stay tuned.