on aging

I wondered what is it about being old that makes it so unacceptable. People speak of the disinterest in thrill seeking as a loss. The physical deterioration can understandably be frightening. Yet discernment, acceptance, wisdom about life, can’t be gained without the passage of time. It is as if happiness is solely defined by being young, thin, good looking, and perhaps rich. Any deviation is negative and detrimental to your social standing. Even if you are happy with the difference, others are obligated to beat you into submission and make sure you are not accepted. It is as if there is no possible way of obtaining pleasure anymore, once we admit that we are old. When we are unwilling or unable to party all night and go bungy jumping, it is disclosed with reluctance and regret. As if we are ashamed of allowing the defeat, allow age conquer us. But why should it be a loss? Why can the change not be seen as gaining in maturity? There are activities which do not involve death defying feats and substances which are not mind altering, that brings pleasure. It seems to me, the widening of experience is an advantage. I guess getting older, things take longer to do. “Good things take time”. Taking pleasures in daily life - soaking up the warmth of the sun on the balcony, feeling the touch of gentle breeze pass my skin, horridly boring? Yet these are everyday part of life as well. I sometimes wonder what life may look like, if we take the time to take note of our senses and surroundings. May be today’s society is not willing to spend “time” anymore. It’s ironic that technology is aimed to make daily living easier, to free up time yet people are increasingly frugal to spend time for any body else, other than themselves. The caring and inclusion of the aged requires precisely that. People are more at ease at talking about death than at aging. Yet it is this stage of life that is lengthening. I wonder how people will cope. I wonder how I will cope.

How can I be worthwhile

There are days like this when I feel “I can’t live like this”. The point of continued existence in a place that doesn’t sees you. No one notices if you are here or not. The world carries on turning whether I am here or not. And there is no reason for things to be different. Yet it does beg the question, why am I here. For sure God made me. God loves me for who I am. There is no one else like me. Yet the problem is, there is nothing about me that makes me special. Obviously, it reflects a fundamental neediness about me, a need for external validation, to give me a reason for being. Surely as a Christian, God should be enough. But it’s not. And that is a scary realisation. Who else can be sufficient if even God is not enough? Therein lays the problem. There is the narcissistic survival instinct that thinks I am intelligent, pretty girl with a respectable job and good people skills, surely people would like me. There are several problems in that statement alone. “Girl”. At the ripe old age of 30, despite deceivingly young appearance, psychologically I seem stuck at this age of wanting to be looked after. My infatuation with my consultant is a subconscious need for a father figure. My obsession with exercise and body size probably reflects a subconscious unwillingness to grow up. I still make girlish faces. I pout and poke my tongue out like a kid. I screw up my face when I see something yucky! I fear that I would end up like one of my patients, unable to accept my own mortality, ordinariness, yet without the courage to do anything about it. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need a fundamental belief that I am worthwhile for some reason. Only then I will find comfort in knowing that God has a purpose for me and only me. Faith is a complex concept. It is because God is unseen that it requires faith to believe. I don’t particularly need faith to believe that my computer exists, given I’m typing on it right now. But how do people develop that sense of worthiness? I suppose that’s why people seek intimate relationships – someone that sees me as special, and would only feel that way about me. Yet people are such unreliable creatures – changing their minds all the time. No relationship guarantees the unconditional acceptance that I need, except God. Yet without experiencing it in life, I don’t know what it should feel like with God. Without having the certainty of God, I have no esteem. How can I love others when I don’t know if I am worth it? I am not special but I cannot accept being ordinary. How does one live with that?