Ok. I’m not being morbid here. I’ll understand if you think I am. The cultural influences around us try to push us into death denying mode. I’m not buying it. No Botox. Gray hair will prevail. Naps will become even more frequent. Small pleasures don’t feel so little. A quiet morning with good coffee means much more than it once did.
Maybe because I don’t have biological children the subject becomes a little more complex for me. There are no biological children or grandchildren to think about. That makes it a little different, I’m guessing.
Generativity sets in for lots of folks in middle age. The question emerges: What kind of influence might I hope to be able to leave behind? I’m considering that these days.
There are reminders every day. And they show up more often, increasing in number with each passing month. I read an obit about a radio fellow who died last week. Younger than I am. He had cancer.
Again, I don’t find this to be something that makes me sad. Sometimes it even makes me smile a little. I read once that a measure of gallows humor can be a useful coping strategy. In my experience that is the case. Very much so.
I imagine I’ve been influenced by watching my parents. They were both pretty much health freaks. Healthy eating, plenty of activity. No “bad” habits. It worked great. Until it didn’t. In fairness to them, they both had pretty long lives.
I do have a suggestion. It may seem like a tall order. Actually, it doesn’t have to be. Spend a little time intentionally moving toward a modicum of acceptance that your time here is not without limit. Here’s my take on it based on experience: it makes life a bit easier by taking some of the pressure off. It can free you up to be appreciative of some very inexpensive and abundantly available small pleasures.