Post by Old Badger on Aug 20, 2020 11:33:05 GMT -5
As it happens, I was born just days after the end of the Second World War, or rather in the weeks between the Japanese surrender on August 15 and the formal signature of the surrender documents on September 2. That means I’ve lived through the entire Post-War Era. And what an era it’s been!
Now, I could wax philosophical at this point. You know, spouting the wisdom that comes from having lived three-quarters of a century, and all that. But I don’t think myself particularly wise. In fact, one of my birthday presents this year is a book about Marcus Aurelius, the Roman philosopher-emperor known for his wisdom. Maybe I’ll feel more philosophical after I read it, but I doubt I’ll have anything particularly wise to say even then.
Or I could go the opposite way, recounting the details of my life. There’s a lot of stuff crammed into those 75 years, from my childhood in a tenement (I only realized it was a tenement after visiting NYC’s Tenement Museum a few years ago, believe it or not), to my education at top public universities, to an interesting and rewarding career, but that story’s neither exceptional nor overly interesting. In fact, it would be boring.
Perhaps, I could go all nostalgic, recounting the “good old days,” when I was in on the first Golden Age of Television, yet still could listen to live drama on radio; or spotted the first commercial jet airplanes flying in and out of Newark Airport; or gloried in the election of the first President of the United States who was Catholic, just like me; or the amazing adventure of going off to college nearly a thousand miles from home, seemingly the edge of the world, until I actually did reach the other side of the globe many years later. But all of us have memories like that.
Instead, I’ve been enjoying the sensation of just living. Not the details of life, but something more like an impressionistic painting of life itself. Or perhaps a montage, blending all kinds of events into a mash-up that transcends the individual events. These days I find myself finding joy in the simplest things about life: a morning cappuccino and croissant, brief conversations with little kids, petting dogs, driving along the George Washington Memorial Parkway to Mount Vernon and back just to see the lush greenery and the bluish Potomac River. The daily phone calls from my daughters that delight me, the home we share that welcomes me, our elderly yet still-kittenish cat who loves and amuses. These fill my days with joy.
As a kid, I wanted to live long enough to see humans in space, Haley’s Comet, and the turn of a new century; mission accomplished. When I grew older, and had a family, I wanted to see my daughters grow up, and then my grandchildren blossom into adults. Well, the daughters are well-established in their lives with husbands I love, the grandsons have been launched from high school, and the granddaughter is moving along precociously. My new longevity goals are to be alive when a person lands on Mars and a woman is elected President; both seem likely in the next few years.
So, after 75 years the only wisdom I’ve gained is that life is not “nasty, brutish, and short” as Thomas Hobbes claimed. Rather it is complex, fascinating, and yes, short. As I like to tell young people, you never again will be as young as you are at this moment; but if you are very lucky, and do not step in front of a bus, you may live to be as old as I am. And by then you may come to realize how much you love life just for itself.
Now, I could wax philosophical at this point. You know, spouting the wisdom that comes from having lived three-quarters of a century, and all that. But I don’t think myself particularly wise. In fact, one of my birthday presents this year is a book about Marcus Aurelius, the Roman philosopher-emperor known for his wisdom. Maybe I’ll feel more philosophical after I read it, but I doubt I’ll have anything particularly wise to say even then.
Or I could go the opposite way, recounting the details of my life. There’s a lot of stuff crammed into those 75 years, from my childhood in a tenement (I only realized it was a tenement after visiting NYC’s Tenement Museum a few years ago, believe it or not), to my education at top public universities, to an interesting and rewarding career, but that story’s neither exceptional nor overly interesting. In fact, it would be boring.
Perhaps, I could go all nostalgic, recounting the “good old days,” when I was in on the first Golden Age of Television, yet still could listen to live drama on radio; or spotted the first commercial jet airplanes flying in and out of Newark Airport; or gloried in the election of the first President of the United States who was Catholic, just like me; or the amazing adventure of going off to college nearly a thousand miles from home, seemingly the edge of the world, until I actually did reach the other side of the globe many years later. But all of us have memories like that.
Instead, I’ve been enjoying the sensation of just living. Not the details of life, but something more like an impressionistic painting of life itself. Or perhaps a montage, blending all kinds of events into a mash-up that transcends the individual events. These days I find myself finding joy in the simplest things about life: a morning cappuccino and croissant, brief conversations with little kids, petting dogs, driving along the George Washington Memorial Parkway to Mount Vernon and back just to see the lush greenery and the bluish Potomac River. The daily phone calls from my daughters that delight me, the home we share that welcomes me, our elderly yet still-kittenish cat who loves and amuses. These fill my days with joy.
As a kid, I wanted to live long enough to see humans in space, Haley’s Comet, and the turn of a new century; mission accomplished. When I grew older, and had a family, I wanted to see my daughters grow up, and then my grandchildren blossom into adults. Well, the daughters are well-established in their lives with husbands I love, the grandsons have been launched from high school, and the granddaughter is moving along precociously. My new longevity goals are to be alive when a person lands on Mars and a woman is elected President; both seem likely in the next few years.
So, after 75 years the only wisdom I’ve gained is that life is not “nasty, brutish, and short” as Thomas Hobbes claimed. Rather it is complex, fascinating, and yes, short. As I like to tell young people, you never again will be as young as you are at this moment; but if you are very lucky, and do not step in front of a bus, you may live to be as old as I am. And by then you may come to realize how much you love life just for itself.