My recent visit with one centenarian led me to moments of contemplative solitude reading the words of another. Stanley Kunitz’s words and my mention of these encounters in turn led to insightful conversations with friends closer to my own age.
I am nowhere near my own century mark, nor am I a spring chicken. I have a few outward scars from surgeries, accidents, and gravity – and a few inward ones that we all acquire in life, but, the thing is, I am still here.
I have pondered at how quickly the years have passed and how they now seem to speed faster and faster by. The thing is, I AM still here, in relatively good health, with a loving family, wonderful friends, and a consistent flow of possibilities.
I do not know if I will make it to 100 years, or, if I do, that I will be as lucid and capable as the two centenarians that are roaming around in my thoughts. I do know that they can be a benchmark. My benchmark. A new benchmark. My own aging expectations have not been that high. You see, my father passed away at 52 and my mother was just turning 67, but, what if 100 is the new goal post? That would mean I’m actually still in my middle ages, and you, perhaps, aren’t even yet middle-aged, and on and on we go.
. . . And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game . . . Joni Mitchell