Having retired from a job I dearly loved (with a cordially
confronting commute), I ask, “What am I now?” Unemployed, superannuated,
out-of-date? Retired, relaxed, rewarded? Consider the comparatives: old and wise or
young and bright; young and foolish or old and slow; senior or junior with
adult default; elder or juvenile; young and scruffy or old and worn out. As if
there’s an ideal age in a world afire with change.
A bottle of olive oil says “young and fruity” but
wine, “aged in the cask”. That’s about it, I think. This bottle is “extra-virgin”.
Consider the implications of that. Maybe we have an extra-virgin world, as we learn
so little from history. The hulks that provided convicts for Sydney plan to
reopen in England with refugees; fans welcome fascist politicians as if no World
War was fought. Nothing won forever. “Then
came the generation that knew not Joseph.”
As
for me, young or old and beautiful depends on how you deploy the light. There
are some things only time will prove. Reliability, friendship, quality. Good in
the beginning, better the longer they last. I could be old and quirky; I’d like
to be old and cool.
