Sometimes ideas for an inspirational moment stare you right in the face. So it was recently when I was sitting at the large table in a meeting room at the non-profit organization where I am on the Board of Directors. It is an organization involved in the health care arena. While it gives some special attention to folks in the second half of their lives, it actually spends time across the generations.
I can only describe what was a moment of coming to awareness. I have been in that room a few times. I probably have even looked at the wall where suddenly I became aware of the words on the wall that I was reading. The words were a saying---a bit of wisdom. English teachers would recognize it as an aphorism---a short, pithy saying that points to a deeper truth. An aphorism would be a saying like the familiar one that says, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
The saying I spotted offered these words: “Youth is a gift; age is an art.” I chuckled to myself (the meeting was going on!). I am sure it struck me as a bit humorous because I am quite aware of both facets of human life. Obviously, I was a youth. And now I am experiencing the wonders and vicissitudes of “age.” I am not a “has been” yet, but I am beyond my prime! What the little aphorism enticed me to do was to ponder these wise words.
The first half of the saying recognizes a deep truth about being human. Most basically, youth is a gift. None of us decided in the beginning that we wanted to become a human being and live in this world. I choose to see each human as a gift from God to the world. I realize not all parents wanted their child who was born to them. I feel very sad for the little guy or gal whose parents---or single parent---does not really want them. These little creatures are gifts, but their context is not welcoming and loving. That is a lousy deal.
Youth is a gift. I think about my own youth. I doubt that I saw myself or my youth as a gift. I am sure I simply took “me” for granted. Early on we know that we did not make the choice to be. Even when I was little, I knew I was dependent. I realized someone else was taking care of me. Someone else put food on the table and protected me. I doubt that I was very grateful. I probably took parents and others who cared for me for granted. It was not that I was ungrateful; I was just oblivious.
I know at some point in my younger years, I recognized that I felt special. I knew I was unique. There was no other human being built just like me. I was not perfect and was no more deserving than any other person, but I was special. Most importantly, I want to think in some way, there is a part of us who is young out entire lives. Although I am getting older, there is a part of me that is still youthful. It continues to be gift. I want to be present to that fact and grateful for it.
The other half of the saying on the wall I choose to entitled this inspirational piece: “age is an art.” I like that. That is the one I want to ponder more deeply. It seems true and I want to explore how it is true for me. There is certainly much science involved in aging. We spend more time with doctors and typically with health issues. We usually start taking more pills. I have transitioned from being a runner to now a walker. At some point, there may even be a walker to help me move!
At the same time, age is an art. I have concluded that is inevitable, not a choice. I can’t choose to become older and not be an artist. My only choice is what kind of artist I want to be. I can be grumpy and complain about the aging process. I can make other folks pay for my miserable engagement with my own life’s process. I can be jealous that other people are less decrepit than I am. I can grump that others seem to be much luckier than I am. No doubt, sometimes life does seem unfair.
But the alternative is to see ourselves as artists of our own aging. We can use our imagination and create best-case scenarios for ourselves and others. We can be givers rather than takers. We can give of our resources and wisdom. We can finally put aside our own egos and look for ways to make the world and others better. Perhaps in my case, it is as simple as actually becoming a good disciple.
I can give my other coat, if asked. I can go the second mile. I can become more forgiving and less likely to hold grudges. I can say yes and not slam doors with my no. As an artist, I can help with the beautification of our world, rather than contribute to its ugliness and hate. That’s a great choice for my aging.
Finally, I can be a bad artist or a good one. Lord help me be good.
I can only describe what was a moment of coming to awareness. I have been in that room a few times. I probably have even looked at the wall where suddenly I became aware of the words on the wall that I was reading. The words were a saying---a bit of wisdom. English teachers would recognize it as an aphorism---a short, pithy saying that points to a deeper truth. An aphorism would be a saying like the familiar one that says, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
The saying I spotted offered these words: “Youth is a gift; age is an art.” I chuckled to myself (the meeting was going on!). I am sure it struck me as a bit humorous because I am quite aware of both facets of human life. Obviously, I was a youth. And now I am experiencing the wonders and vicissitudes of “age.” I am not a “has been” yet, but I am beyond my prime! What the little aphorism enticed me to do was to ponder these wise words.
The first half of the saying recognizes a deep truth about being human. Most basically, youth is a gift. None of us decided in the beginning that we wanted to become a human being and live in this world. I choose to see each human as a gift from God to the world. I realize not all parents wanted their child who was born to them. I feel very sad for the little guy or gal whose parents---or single parent---does not really want them. These little creatures are gifts, but their context is not welcoming and loving. That is a lousy deal.
Youth is a gift. I think about my own youth. I doubt that I saw myself or my youth as a gift. I am sure I simply took “me” for granted. Early on we know that we did not make the choice to be. Even when I was little, I knew I was dependent. I realized someone else was taking care of me. Someone else put food on the table and protected me. I doubt that I was very grateful. I probably took parents and others who cared for me for granted. It was not that I was ungrateful; I was just oblivious.
I know at some point in my younger years, I recognized that I felt special. I knew I was unique. There was no other human being built just like me. I was not perfect and was no more deserving than any other person, but I was special. Most importantly, I want to think in some way, there is a part of us who is young out entire lives. Although I am getting older, there is a part of me that is still youthful. It continues to be gift. I want to be present to that fact and grateful for it.
The other half of the saying on the wall I choose to entitled this inspirational piece: “age is an art.” I like that. That is the one I want to ponder more deeply. It seems true and I want to explore how it is true for me. There is certainly much science involved in aging. We spend more time with doctors and typically with health issues. We usually start taking more pills. I have transitioned from being a runner to now a walker. At some point, there may even be a walker to help me move!
At the same time, age is an art. I have concluded that is inevitable, not a choice. I can’t choose to become older and not be an artist. My only choice is what kind of artist I want to be. I can be grumpy and complain about the aging process. I can make other folks pay for my miserable engagement with my own life’s process. I can be jealous that other people are less decrepit than I am. I can grump that others seem to be much luckier than I am. No doubt, sometimes life does seem unfair.
But the alternative is to see ourselves as artists of our own aging. We can use our imagination and create best-case scenarios for ourselves and others. We can be givers rather than takers. We can give of our resources and wisdom. We can finally put aside our own egos and look for ways to make the world and others better. Perhaps in my case, it is as simple as actually becoming a good disciple.
I can give my other coat, if asked. I can go the second mile. I can become more forgiving and less likely to hold grudges. I can say yes and not slam doors with my no. As an artist, I can help with the beautification of our world, rather than contribute to its ugliness and hate. That’s a great choice for my aging.
Finally, I can be a bad artist or a good one. Lord help me be good.
Comments
Post a Comment