Youth thinks about late life

Connor de Bruler

debrulerc@thejohnsonian.com

As my teen years come to a close, I think more and more about the aging process. I’ve always wondered just what kind of old man I’ll become. 

It’s probably more appropriate for a youngster to worry about getting a job and becoming a “productive member of society.” But it’s much more fun to ruminate, in hypothetical terms, about my final years. 

I could become a cheery, grandfatherly type who stuffs his pockets with expensive chocolates and performs magic tricks for my grandchildren. My wife and I might live in a small cottage in central Vermont, where I could gather my own maple syrup for kicks. 

I could also become an angry, withdrawn old man living in a secluded cabin near Appalachia. My wife might die early on or leave me for someone more interesting. 

My children could disown me and never bother to call. Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting on my rickety front porch, plagued by back pain, and waving a double-barrel shotgun at passing hikers. 

I can easily picture myself as a senior citizen. My skin will be creased similar to a tree trunk and my personality jaded by seventy years worth of embarrassment and social anxiety. I’ll probably wear the same clothes, though the suspenders will probably look better on me as an old man.

Of course, the possibility that I won’t live to see old age. 

It’s impossible to think about aging without thinking about death. My death is a scary and simultaneously relieving notion. 

I think about possible deaths quite often. Sometimes I see myself walking down the wrong path on a nature trail and aggravating a bear. I also have a bad habit of not paying attention to where I’m walking and I have run into flag poles, concrete pillars, plywood signs and tree branches. This absentmindedness may prove deadly. 

Most elderly and middle- aged adults I speak to on the subject don’t have very much to say. They tell me I have tons  of time and so many things to enjoy, but I fervently disagree. 

No one is promised tomorrow or even the next five minutes. I could die very soon. 

My great-grandmother was very straightforward when she turned 102. She said, earnestly, that life was no longer enjoyable for her and she wanted to die. She said she could no longer see or walk, and that everyone she had ever truly cared about had been dead for twenty years. Thankfully, she got her wish a couple months later. 

I suppose the best way to go about living the remainder of my life is to simply enjoy each day as it comes. Everyone should behave as if  he/she were already elderly.