May I say that I was surprised that you'll soon be eighty. Immediately, I thought to myself, eighty looks good. What am I so afraid of? This year I became sixty-five. Suddenly, I feel the pressure of the time I've wasted dwelling in regret. Oh dear. What have I done with my time? What time do I have left and what can I cram in? The career that never was? What should I hurry to be, so that I become something before I become nothing forever? Thank you, I think, for reminding me of my finiteness.
Weeping is an unadulterated expression straight from the body. Years ago when I lived in Ontario and was going through a difficult separation, I attended weekly yoga classes. The stillness and silence of the simple white studio space, in conjunction with body movements, and the particular teacher's non-judgemental acceptance of my quiet weeping throughout her class, made those Thursday noon hours a longed-for weekly retreat from my daily struggles. It was a safe place to just be, move, feel, and cry. We don't always know why we feel the way we do, nor do we need a reason. Understanding and empathy are the best friends of those feelings that our culture tends to avoid, hide, and repress. I have often found comfort in the writings of Jungian Analyst James Hollis, as well as Rumi's famous poem, The Guest House.
I really enjoyed this piece! You talk about aging as if it is largely subjective, ie how people mentally and emotionally process their physical changes. I agree. Aging is mostly in your head!!
Thanks for the thought provoking article. Until 4 years ago I was a beef cattle farmer doing the wild and strenuous tasks needed. Thought I could continue forever. Now the body changes/deteriorates faster than the mind comprehends.
I'm 77, mother died at 93 - active and alert she sat down one day and never got up. Father died at 50 of war induced ailment.
I enjoy your substack......My mom who passed at 93, said her brain was still in its 20s. I am 71, I know the bod can't do what it used to. The brain wants to do what it used to.
May I say that I was surprised that you'll soon be eighty. Immediately, I thought to myself, eighty looks good. What am I so afraid of? This year I became sixty-five. Suddenly, I feel the pressure of the time I've wasted dwelling in regret. Oh dear. What have I done with my time? What time do I have left and what can I cram in? The career that never was? What should I hurry to be, so that I become something before I become nothing forever? Thank you, I think, for reminding me of my finiteness.
Weeping is an unadulterated expression straight from the body. Years ago when I lived in Ontario and was going through a difficult separation, I attended weekly yoga classes. The stillness and silence of the simple white studio space, in conjunction with body movements, and the particular teacher's non-judgemental acceptance of my quiet weeping throughout her class, made those Thursday noon hours a longed-for weekly retreat from my daily struggles. It was a safe place to just be, move, feel, and cry. We don't always know why we feel the way we do, nor do we need a reason. Understanding and empathy are the best friends of those feelings that our culture tends to avoid, hide, and repress. I have often found comfort in the writings of Jungian Analyst James Hollis, as well as Rumi's famous poem, The Guest House.
I really enjoyed this piece! You talk about aging as if it is largely subjective, ie how people mentally and emotionally process their physical changes. I agree. Aging is mostly in your head!!
Thanks for the thought provoking article. Until 4 years ago I was a beef cattle farmer doing the wild and strenuous tasks needed. Thought I could continue forever. Now the body changes/deteriorates faster than the mind comprehends.
I'm 77, mother died at 93 - active and alert she sat down one day and never got up. Father died at 50 of war induced ailment.
Life never stops being fragile and temporary.
I enjoy your substack......My mom who passed at 93, said her brain was still in its 20s. I am 71, I know the bod can't do what it used to. The brain wants to do what it used to.
A lovely picture of you and your daughter at the ballgame,a touch of the old flaneur!
Great article thank you. I was grabbed by the phrase, “from flâneur to frightened recluse”, which describes a common situation very fittingly.