Growing old, dying and why some of us don’t fear the inevitable.

There is a time to leave the party. You have had a good time, have had your fill, you’re a bit wobbly from too much drink and conversation. The crowd has thinned, at least of anyone you know. In fact, most of your family and many of your friends have left already. You find less and less in common with the other guests and it becomes an effort to put on a fresh face and pretend you care about petty concerns.

The newer guests are still living it up and it gives you comfort to know they will keep the party going without you.

If you stay any longer you fear you’ll make a fool of yourself. You might pee your pants or babble incoherently. No matter how hard you try, you can’t always hear what others are saying. If you stay any longer you just know you are going to become a drag and your hosts, while concerned, will have to divert time and attention to you which might be used more constructively elsewhere.

You look around and realize, the party is no longer one where you fit. They are dancing to tunes you don’t recognize and they use words not in your lexicon. You are really not interested in adapting to new ways. Peace and quiet seems more prized than frantic activity.

The thought crosses your mind: it’s time to go home.

This was written by Carolyn Wexler on Quora. What a beautiful way to express oneself.  

What have you been up to?

This happened about six years ago.  I was in a doctors office in Logan, Utah.  An older gentleman who was into retirement age walked out of one of the examination rooms and back out into the lobby where he saw another gentleman that appeared to be somewhat the senior of him. He greeted him warmly, as you would a friend, and asked how he was doing. The man looked him steady back in the eyes, but I saw those those eyes from where I sat and something behind his solid gaze belied a fear that comes with the inability to do anything about a situation you are facing.  He said in a voice hinting of some surprise and concern, “I got old.  I got old.”

That’s how I’m starting to feel.  I’m getting old. I’m not old yet like these two gentlemen were but it’s close. On occasion I’m told I look young for my age but what does that matter when Im really old?   I don’t feel my age. Let me clarify that... my body feels every year I’ve lived but my mind doesn’t... not yet.  I feel like John Lennon must’ve felt when he sung that life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. With all I’ve experienced in recent years I bet I’ve written 100 drafts that I’ve never posted on my blog because they always read back to me as too personal for the moment.  Over time I intend to publish them, as the content draws further and further from me. There’s not thing I can do about the past, and one day I’ll realize that “I got old.”  I working so that I can look back and, all in all, not wish I’d lived era’s of my life differently than I did.