Musings about aging
I am very soon to become 45 years old. In a recent conversation with my father, I mentioned to him the sudden realization of how fast time starts moving as you traverse your adult years. "That is true", he said, followed by silence.
That silence of his made me think about its meaning. Was it sadness? Nostalgia? The mere stating of a fact? I was tempted to ask, but I decided not to. I found his silence more interesting.
My years as a young adult were rough. Moments of extreme suffering made them quite the challenge. The root cause could easily be summarized in one word: capitalism. I resisted its attack. I wasn't broken. And I enjoyed, still do, the protection, love, and presence of my family. In my 30s, I became acquainted with what I can call the most stable, long-lasting happiness I ever experienced: I got a good job, and I got married.
I still long for some things I do not yet have, but those are the kind of absences that help me to push myself. This body of mine will soon have a different age, a different number. It makes me a bit anxious, but then I remember that I am protected, that I am loved.
And despite all the hardships, unbroken.