In a classic joke, a snail steals from a bank and escapes. The police interview a turtle who witnessed the event, but he’s bewildered by the rapid sequence of events. This comical scenario highlights a universal truth: perspective matters, especially when it comes to time.
As I navigate the latter part of life, I find myself relating to that bemused turtle. The passage of time has altered my perception, leaving me with a profound appreciation for the lessons aging offers. It’s no longer a joyful experience to read menus in dimly lit restaurants, nor do I revel in icing my knees after a long run. The harsh reality of mortality, the relentless march of time, is a constant reminder. With each passing year, there’s a greater need for forgiveness, a recognition of the mistakes made along the way.
Yet, aging, despite its aches and discomforts, isn’t without its blessings. Three years ago, upon reaching the milestone of five decades, a new perspective emerged. Suddenly, time began to condense, the half-century increments I’d attained collapsing into a single snap of the fingers. My 16th and 21st birthdays, once seemingly distant, now felt like yesterday. This realization taught me that the span of time I’d once believed to be expansive was, in fact, surprisingly fleeting.
Looking back across the years, the events of 1921, a half-century before my birth, no longer felt like distant history. They were *my* lifetime ago, inextricably woven into the fabric of my own existence. This prompted a deeper reflection, prompting me to consider the world 50 years before 1921 – the Reconstruction era, a mere six years after the end of the Civil War and the assassination of President Lincoln.
The humbling realization that these events were not merely part of a distant past, but *my* distant past, has shifted my perspective. I can only imagine the profound humility experienced by those who’ve lived twice my years. Aging, in a way, acts as a tonic against chronological snobbery, the tendency to view the past as inherently inferior to the present. As we age, we inhabit both worlds, the past and the present, and the more we judge the past, the more we realize we are judging ourselves.
With each passing year, I find myself craving mercy rather than justice. This shift, a natural consequence of aging, highlights the profound lessons learned through the accumulation of time. It reminds me of the enduring nature of human frailty, our shared capacity for mistakes, and the need for divine grace. As St. Bernard of Clairvaux eloquently stated, humility is the most important virtue, a truth that aging teaches us again and again.
