Fourties had been “fine” – except that they were about struggling to get back what I’d built through my thirties that was lost, and watching it all slip from my grasp despite valiant efforts. The conveyor belt of life kept whooshing me forward into new dramas and incidences adding to the historical documents our current timeline will record.
Having made it this far, I was suddenly thrust into the ages of fifty and just beyond, whereupon I have been told by society that all of my validity as a human being no longer matters nor counts. I have been told that I should start planning for retirement, for any warranty should now be cashed in – and in fact, check the fine print: all promises have been rendered null and void.
No wonder my muscles lock up. No wonder my tissues swell. No wonder I feel as if I am in hell. There’s no longer any operant premise easily available that excites my life’s continued participation.
It shouldn’t really matter to me by now what society thinks. After all, I have always walked my own path in my own way, careful to not dance too close to such irrational dictates. The problem is, I’m having a hard time finding other people who think like I do – people who want to push back and challenge “the accepted norms” and prove that youth’s vitality doesn’t have to end after you’ve lived half of a century.
In fact, I am just now beginning to get a new grip on understanding life’s purpose. We each have a responsibility to share the truths that having accumulated years comes to prove are most important. We are supposed to hail each other and join together to reinforce efforts toward more sustainable strategies.
That’s it, that’s all there is. I have lived long enough to where I can now justify my positions. Ageism is just another way for society to avoid evolving its own maturity.
Candid Corvid Productions 