Aging in Life

As Nathan Church Hubbard put it, there’s a point in our life where we stop growing up and start growing in. We all like to think of our contexts (”where we are in life”) determining our relative age, but I’m beginning to see how experience makes one older. Context can be purely arbitrary–wine in place of Coke, slacks over khakis, the Post’s Outlook rather than USA Today’s Life. Context could also be symbolic–close friends getting engaged, metabolism not being what it used to be, parents no longer chipping in on bills. But there are certain things that truly age us (toward sagacity?), issues that are real and hard to dismiss, like dependence & independence, the growing array of responsibilities, relationships come & gone, and tragedy & loss.

In all of those areas I feel like I’m starting to feel a little older, a little wiser, and a little less naive. Some of it is change for the better whereas other bits of reality I could do without. Owning a home can uncover a new array of possibilities…and responsibilities. Sharing a life can teach you about love…and the stubbornness of the heart at moving on. Losing friends of your own age may teach you about death…but it proffers lessons in life that are hard to accept.

The last of those examples has been on my mind a lot lately. I know I’ll never understand why two people roughly the same young age as myself died completely unexpectedly. They both were phenomenal, warm, sincere, and giving people. Ben lived next door for a year in college…and I can still hear the way he’d chide me for being an RA. Perry and I had met on several occasions through his girlfriend with whom I’ve known a long time. Even though we were never close I can’t help but to listen to my friends talk about him and read the stories online.

When we think of death, we don’t know whether to give up at the futility of life or to try that much harder to make the most of it. Losing someone is not like buying a house or earning a degree, both of which offer a foundation for future decisions. My gut reaction is to think of death as the removal of a foundation from those who were close to the deceased. But when I look deeper I think that both death and serious accomplishments are merely events/symbols that bridge together different parts of our lives. They are both merely agents of change.

Then again all of this is just thoughts running through my head, and like most advice it’s much easier in theory than practice. The concept of the defining relationship–Amory Blaine’s Rosalind or Howard Roark’s Dominique–is another topic of age. Nearly without exception all of my closest friends have loved and lost their first love, and moved on…just like the aforementioned protagonists. While their context may appear symbolic, having gone through the struggle myself is as tangible as it is potent. Tack that one on for experience.

But perhaps the trickiest of all is the ever-present battle for independence amidst dependence. In our twenties we all want to be unique and special, leaving a mark on the people and places around us. But much like the Wheelers in Revolutionary Road, we take on responsibilities–dependencies–that both enable us and hold us back. I’ve learned that buying a house, having a serious relationship, or running a business are all empowering but come at a price: time, freedom, money, pain.

I don’t think the cost necessarily outweighs the benefit. To the contrary, experience merely provides a lens for our view around us. It forces us to take in the world from a different perspective. I’d like to think that makes me a little wiser but that could be a stretch. I’m “just a little older, that’s all.”