But what of successive birthdays beyond mid-life, whatever that is? Speaking from firsthand experience, they seem to arrive with greater ferocity and unwelcome frequency the older I become. Now, rather than associating aging with certain legal permission, I am forced to connect birthdays with increased aches and decreased mobility. I feel as though I've turned a painful corner on my way back to the fetal position. Added to the discomfort of aging is the aching awareness that our society places inordinate priority on youth. Opportunity for advancement in the work force becomes scant in direct proportion to one's age. And all of this occurs while the soon-to-be-decrepit's wisdom is widening and maturity deepening.
This may be occasion for quoting from two of my favorite Whitman poems:
(To Old Age) I see in you the estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours in the great sea.
and...
O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring ... The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these O me, O life?
Answer. That you are here--that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
Jesus Christ said that he came so that we may have life and live it to the full, so I believe I'm justified on this the 54th celebration of the day of my birth in altering both Whitman's question and his corresponding answer:
The question, O me, O Lord! no longer sad recurring--What is my purpose O me, O life, O Lord?
Answer. That You are here in me. That Your powerful play goes on, and I may contribute a verse.
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