Today, and for the next few weeks, my wife is nominally and calendrically older than me: we were both born in the year of Sputnik, but I not until Valentine's Day. I love pointing that out to her.
She might need to hear what Maria Popova and Simone de Beauvoir say about time's arrow… (And happy birthday to WJ, a spry 182 today.)
…to grow old at all is a tremendous privilege — one withheld from the vast majority of humans populating the history of our young species (to say nothing of the infinite potential humans who never chanced into existing)...
"There is only one solution if old age is not to be an absurd parody of our former life, and that is to go on pursuing ends that give our existence a meaning — devotion to individuals, to groups or to causes, social, political, intellectual or creative work… In old age we should wish still to have passions strong enough to prevent us turning in on ourselves. One's life has value so long as one attributes value to the life of others, by means of love, friendship, indignation, compassion." Simone de Beauvoir[John Lachs could have written that.]
Complement with Bertrand Russell on how to grow old and Thoreau on the greatest gift of the winter years, then revisit Simone de Beauvoir on the ultimate frontier of hope and the artist's task to liberate the present from the past. -The Marginalian
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