A Crooked Path

Today is my birthday, and I mostly agree with the statement I heard somewhere that by about 11, we should get over the idea that our birthday should be a big deal. I'd change the age in the statement to 21, and make an exception for moms, as we moms reserve the right to celebrate every one of the birthdays of our children.

A friend and I were having a conversation about aging and I told him how grateful I am that I lived as long and I did before having a single worry associated with my own aging. I can't remember ever having a birthday when I became depressed about reaching another milestone. Not at 30, not at 40, not at 50. Of course I would observe the struggles of old folks, and my heart would go out to them, but for some reason I didn't personalize those struggles until I saw my mom suffer, shortly before she died. Is this a sign of a calloused heart or clueless denial? Beats me. I hope not.

After Mom's death, for the first time ever I thought about how I would manage growing old and infirm and how it would impact the people who love me. It was depressing. It's not that my mother's death was the first experience I'd had with illness and infirmity in someone close to me; it wasn't, but it was the first time I witnessed it so closely in someone truly elderly. And she was my mom; I'm sure that had a lot to do with my feelings about it.

Today, I'm not depressed, I'm celebrating middle age- I like it! But, as I mark another milestone, I'm reminded of a couple of poems by Friederich Holderlin:


At the Middle of Life

The earth hangs down
to the lake, full of yellow
pears and wild roses.
Lovely swans, drunk with
kisses you dip your heads
into the holy, sobering waters.

But when winter comes,
where will I find
the flowers, the sunshine,
the shadows of the earth?
The walls stand
speechless and cold,
the weathervanes
rattle in the wind.



and this excerpt from "The Course of Life"

You too wanted better things, but love
forces all of us down. Sorrow bends us more
forcefully, but the arc doesn't return to its
point of origin without a reason.


Upwards or downwards! In holy Night,
where mute Nature plans the coming days,
doesn't there reign in the most twisted Orcus
something straight and direct?


This I have learned. Never to my knowledge
did you, all-preserving gods, like mortal
masters, lead me providentially
along a straight path.


The gods say that man should test
everything, and that strongly nourished
he be thankful for everything, and understand
the freedom to set forth wherever he will.