Sometimes I feel like one enormous “stick in the mud.” I am convinced that this is how that thing called age begins. Ask anyone over fifty and they will tell you that age is not in your physical body but in some cerebral place between your ears. I used “to scoff” at the adage, “You are only as old as you think you are.” It is pointedly true but you have to qualify in chronological years to understand it. Socrates, perhaps, said at his trial, to paraphrase, “I know that I know nothing.” (1) As I approach his age (he died at seventy), that does not sound like such a useless tautology. (2) It is true, but many of us, as our hair whitens, submerge ourselves in our own smugness and think we know something when we don’t. Any trifling glance at most political statements and this belief will be but reinforced.
The quest then becomes, “How do I stay imaginative and connected to the world around me?” This is not easy. I consider myself somewhat technologically adept, but this is pure illusion. One of my young charges recently showed me how I should “properly” post on my Instagram account. I must admit that I failed wholeheartedly. I am left with my more tactile feelings to catapult me into the world of inspiration and hence adolescence. The other day, I was driving on my motocha in the blinding rain. My face was being truly pummeled as I drove along. I do not have a deep-seated love of water for I grew up on the West coast of Vancouver Island. Every year, it rains for eight months and drizzles the remaining four. This is an exaggeration, but not by much. I found, however, that I was flooded with memories of the smell of the sea and of the wet forest. These images were commingled as I walked along the beach during a torrential downpour. What an experience! Even today, I remember feeling the terrifying power of nature. To me, this concept of Gaia is not some fantastic story but very real and omnipresent.
The real test of your manhood, however, is to go to your “inner child,” your tender self. Go to a park and take your shoes and socks off and walk on the moist grass. Strange as it may seem I felt embarrassed as if I was going to be half naked on some busy street corner. I waited till dusk and then proceeded to a local public area. I used to watch young children run and run and run. I suddenly felt the same. Without the appurtenances, my feet felt free. I even had a short sprint and a little dance. I got caught by several young mothers who “cast aspersions” in my direction. The opprobrium reminded me that only I can leave that mud and have a wash. I like taking a shower, don’t you? The writer and naturalist Jean Craighead George (3) leaves us with a thought: I throw back my head, and, feeling free as the wind, breathe in the fresh mountain air. Although I am heavy-hearted, my spirits are rising. To walk in nature is always good medicine.
A closing thought: We are increasingly more and more distant from nature and living things. It is because of this that we must make a special effort to stay connected to Mother Earth. I do agree that our education will ultimately depict the world we leave our children and grandchildren. Perhaps the Slow Movement (4) will show us the way. If we slow down, we will realize that thought and critical thinking will go a long way in solving Earth’s crises. How much gold can you eat: we should ask King Midas, (5) shouldn’t we?
To sum up: This week, we spoke about how to stay mentally young. It requires effort and vigilance. Failure to do so and the needle of the time clock will proceed on its own.
A philosophical question: Why, when you look into the eyes of a cat, do you feel that she knows something about you? For reference, read Gogol’s (6) short story: Old-Fashioned Farmers.
Just for fun – on a rainy day —Boccherini
This week, on your patient stroll, when you take your shoes off, please enjoy the feeling.
Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: I am the mental age that I want to create.
Footnotes:
2) tautology
4) The Slow Movement: Making a Connection
5) The myth of King Midas and his golden touch – Iseult Gillespie