We have a mirror at the bottom of our stairs. It serves as a “fashion warning” to ensure me that the clothes I’m wearing are at least all in the same genre. This morning it became a “gun-safety warning.” At the bottom of the stairs I was jumped by a disheveled, wild-haired, bleary-eyed seventy-five year old. I am glad I was unarmed.

         Recently I have been reading books about becoming old. Unfortunately they are written by people who write books and do other productive things like that. They talk about slowing down and appreciating life. As I would have to become comatose to slow down anymore, and I already hang around with people who truly appreciate life, I’ve returned them all to the library.

         Some books imply that people first get interested in their spiritual lives after age 60. Most of my friends belong to the UCC Ashfield, and/or St. John’s, and/or practice Buddhism, and/or Wicca, and/or are Jewish, and/or delight in Celtic spirituality, and/or engage in social justice, and/or walk in the woods, so these books also are not helpful.

         At the same time, becoming old is new country. My wife Jeannine compared growing old with being in desert country for the first time. She visited the Mohave Desert last year and noticed new kinds of flowers, and new kinds of cautions. One walks differently, and notices new things in desert territory and in old age.

         My spiritual life has gone through many changes and I am reviewing all I have learned from Irish Catholics, Buddhists, Hindus, monastics, shamans, liberation theologians, atheists, and agnostics. It continues to be a wonderful adventure. 

         What’s next? Perhaps it is integrating what I have learned. I want to listen to other elders, what we have learned and where we stand now. Most of us have had close calls with death, experienced illness and disability in our lives, what have we learned from those times? 

         Mostly I wonder what the big deal is about being old. It’s fine with me. In fact, I’m kind of proud of myself for making it this far with a lot of help from the rest of humanity, and some animals, and my garden, and night skies.

         Here is a wonderful post from Cathy Frye that sums it up:

“Oh no, my wonder is not ‘childlike.’ My whimsy is old. My frivolity is steeped in ancient wisdom. My silliness is battle worn. My awe at the world has been long forged through trial & tribulation. I have earned this wonderment. I have protected it for decades against a society that tells me constantly that it should not belong to me. I was born with wonder, and I have carried it, against all odds, with me through adulthood. It is not ‘childlike’ by now it is Older than me.”