Some Differences Between Being Twenty-five and Fifty-five

The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been. ~Madeleine L'Engle

A man's age is something impressive, it sums up his life: maturity reached slowly and against many obstacles, illnesses cured, grief’s and despairs overcome, and unconscious risks taken; maturity formed through so many desires, hopes, regrets, forgotten things, loves. A man's age represents a fine cargo of experiences and memories. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wartime Writings 1939-1944, translated from French by Norah Purcell

I recently received an email from a person who was wondering why I had written essays on turning 30 years old and another on turning 40, but nothing about turning 50. I wrote back that it took 5 years for me to figure out what in the world happened!

When I was 25, I took myself quite seriously. I was a man with a mission and both the man and the mission must be respected. Now that I am 55, a day doesn’t go by that I don’t laugh at myself.

When I was 25, I was going to accomplish Great Things with my life. Now, I simply hope to do good work, while having some fun.

At 25, there was the posturing and posing of the worldly wise man, the spiritual sage who had answers for everyone else’s doubts and questions. At 55, I realize that there are very few satisfactory answers to any of life’s important questions: there is only faith, hope and love … and that is enough.

At 25, Truth/Orthodoxy was the Be-all and End-all to me: I had it; you needed it. At 55, I have discovered that, however important Truth is, Jesus laid his life down for people, not for theological systems.

When I was 25, conflicts were always experienced as tsunamis. “Put up the barriers, grab the women and children … get to the high ground!” Now, at 55, most conflicts are experienced as an afternoon rainstorm. “This too shall pass.”

At 25, I thought that as I grew older I would grow wiser and more mature, in a linear fashion. At 55, I discover that I am mature over here, immature elsewhere, and wise here, foolish over there. Some days, my past pulls me out of the present: other days, my future pulls me forward. I am 25 and 55 and 15 … all at the same time.

When I was 25, I began thinking of health and fitness, so as to live as long as possible. Now, at 55, I do not believe gaining a few years of longevity is worth forgoing an extra glass of a fine wine with my 10-ounce fillet mignon (medium rare), and then enjoying a flaming crème brûlée

At 25, I wanted time to speed up. At 55, I sure as heck wish it would slow down … to a crawl.

At 25, I thought of 60 as “getting on up in years.” At 55, I don’t think you are a seasoned old geezer until around 80. Once I hit 80, I bet that will change.

At 25, I despaired of my youth, as people frequently impeached my ideas because of it. At 55, I despair of my age, not because people listen to me or not, but because the years ahead of me are far fewer than the years behind, and there is still so much I want to accomplish and experience. The despair increases daily, yet I do not allow it to cripple me: rather, I use it as a motivating force to live in the moment, savoring life, love, possibilities … and being above ground!

Copyright, Monte E Wilson, 2008