Make me proud old man

I will never forget feeling jarred by the following words from Thoreau in his book "Walden" about our misplaced reverence for old people (not always unquestionably 'wise' people):

"It is never too late to give up our prejudices. No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof... What old people say you cannot do, you try and find that you can. Old deeds for old people, and new deeds for new. Old people did not know enough once, perchance, to fetch fresh fuel to keep the fire a-going; new people put a little dry wood under a pot, and are whirled round the globe with the speed of birds, in a way to kill old people, as the phrase is. Age is no better, hardly so well qualified as an instructor as youth, for [old age] has not profited so much as it has lost. One may almost doubt if the wisest man has learned anything of absolute value by living. Practically, the old have no very important advice to give the young, their own experience has been so partial, and their lives have been such miserable failures, for private reasons, as they must believe; [though] it may be that they have some faith left which belies that experience, and they are only less young than they were. I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They have told me nothing, and probably cannot tell me anything to the purpose. Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am sure to reflect that this my Mentors said nothing about."

Pow. Please don't try to controvert that. You'll have a stroke old man. Yes, I'm talking to you, me. You're as old as hell now as you read this, and I'm sure you think you have a thing or two you'd like to teach an arrogant young prick like me. Let me guess, you want to laugh at me for being so cocky now but so afraid later at the least potent virus that wracks my body, or the accident that severs a limb, or the seemingly insignificant argument that separates me from all I love. No doubt you want to criticize my grammar, or the sophomoric level of my reasoning, or my love of pedantic words like ‘sophomoric’ and ‘pedantic’. Save it old man, I've heard it all before. You must've forgotten our little maxim contrived for those language-bullies who think what you say is not as important as how you say it. Remember? "I'd rather have a twisted tongue than a crooked heart." Hey, it worked.

Humor me for just a moment, will you? I could beat you in a body-throwing contest. I can out-think you, at least in speed if not in quality...but, seeing that you might have received a lobotomy by now, maybe in quality too. (Btw, in the event of my future lobotomy, please ignore the rest of this, slurp your pre-digested meal, and get some sleep.) I can still put up with tension of the worst kind—relational tension—and it only minimally fatigues me. I'm still fresh and raw enough to hope—and to hope great and beautiful things—not only for myself, but for the entire world and its sleepy denizens. I've built myself “rectangular in body and soul” to stand on this whirling planet and not topple, and I'm already conditioning myself for the next life. I've not only coped with the outer world, but I've begun the journey of internal discovery—of myself and the 'collective unconscious' I inherited. And I'm not all that bad either, but I won't stoop to enumerate my random and calculated acts of kindness. You already know.

Oh, don't kid yourself, I won't take any of this back. You take it back! Go ahead, regret my words. If it makes you feel better, shake your head and wish you had said it differently. Careful that head doesn't rock right off your play-doh neck as you wobble it from the present to the past, from the past to the present. I don't have time for it…too busy moving forward and doing stuff.

As you already know (you're me for goodness' sake!), I'm not trying to fix you back here. I've just been feeling at a peak lately, and I want some way to parlay my winnings--my health, wisdom, courage, and imagination--to obviate any discouragement from a sudden accident or infirmity that might have overtaken you. I don't want to grow old like the aged that Thoreau spoke of—like so many I see. I want to age with a lust for adventure. I won’t be driven to ‘an ever vaguer and vaguer stir’ like Frost’s leaves (see “Misgiving”), but I want to strive to always ‘go in quest of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life’. I know I’ll get tired at times. I already feel those eggs of inertia incubating in my bones; but I’ll spend my breathe to the last screaming molecule of oxygen, I’ll run my legs to rubber before the Old Man’s disease talks me into sleeping before my time. I tell myself now, “there’ll be time to sleep”, and so I keep running, and gnashing, and breaking my body against the tide of time and entropy.

Sorry if this has hurt you, but I’d rue more if this hasn’t hurt you enough. Jen tells the kids “Be safe” before they go outside; I follow with “Don’t be too safe!” I imagine my joints will start aching sooner than later with this mentality. But I will not grow old, spiritually that is, like the rest. (Don’t look so disappointed.)

So, my excuse for my behavior now is: I’m spending myself. My question to you, oh later Self, is: are you still spending yourself, or are you a premature self-burial? Are you just old, or is your “youth being daily renewed”? Are you ready for the next adventure? Do you still believe in the miracle of life and the meaning of your measure of life and energy? Spend it! Wake up! Think, dream, hope! Love! Live to the last breath! Bleed to the last drop!

Make me proud old man! I hope I’ve made you proud.

If this letter doesn’t reach you…