The Art of Ageing

I Used to be Young. Phillip Hoyle way back then.

I don’t know why people freak out over getting old. I suspect they may be worshipping at the Shrine of Madison Avenue, a power so great that in the span of a couple of hours of TV watching promises the worshipper a plan to get over the fear of running out of money in retirement, others for long life, clear skin, non-wrinkly skin, beauty, medicines to counter every ill, all for dedication to the eternal worship of youthfulness. This menu doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t believe a bit of it! Deceitful is the god that promises eternal youth. The TV shrine can never deliver its promise since Chronos keeps ticking away at the same rate for everyone: for young, middle aged, and elders, even those of great old age. Crisis over old age seems most likely if one doesn’t look into the promises and judge the reality of eternal youth. Talk about a religious scam. We hear, “Just buy our product.” That’s like, “Send us your money and we’ll pray for you,” the line of too many TV evangelists. Or was that “…and we’ll prey on you”?

I’m old. When I was turning 25 I realized I would be old someday. I also knew that 30 would not be the end of the world and my life, and so I decided then that at 50 would be old, the time I would enter the final third of my expected survival to age 75. I announced that on my 25th birthday to my surprised co-workers. We laughed together, but I was serious.

So when I get old… Oh, Chronos just reminded me; that happened 17 ½ years ago according to my standard.

And I wonder: what have I learned since that time? Here’s a partial list:

I can live well on very little money.
I can thrive in a very small space.
I can feed myself—meaning shop for, cook, and still lift the spoon to my mouth.
I learned I can retire, to cut back on my productivity (even though that productivity in my adulthood occurred in the service arena).
I learned I can still lead a group, still write a story, still paint a picture, still love my friends, still support my family, still help out folk I don’t even know by contributing to their welfare, and still maintain my own vital life.

I’m going to have to say something here about “when I get old, old.” That will take imagination because if I last beyond 75, I’ll be getting closer that that categorization and will have to think out a plan!

I’ll do the things I’ve discussed above. Plus I’ll hope to find someone to listen to my stories of the good ol’ days. I’ll hope someone will accompany me to my favorite museums—you know push the wheelchair. I’ll hope not to become a terrible burden on my family or society. If I can’t walk, I’ll still hope to be able to think!

Of course, I don’t know. So right now I’m saying through my writing and painting what I want to say. I do it with a sense of purpose and hope for the world my kids, grand kids, and great grand kids will live in. I express my ideas in ways I hope others will find helpful—at least pleasing or entertaining. I think that’s enough; I sure do hope so. Life goes on even if it is not my life. Eventually may I be caught up in the great mystical one however it may be described or may actually occur.

Denver 2016