I thought I’d hate getting old … I don’t. Thoughts of losing my youth, my vigor, my ability to roll with the punches. To adapt and accept new ideas, new concepts, new music, to relish in the concept of the old and antiquated were being brushed aside. Such is the arrogance and beauty of youth.
I don’t mind getting old. This is what I didn’t understand, age has that wonderful gift. Call it perspective, experience, insight, “been there, done that” or “learning the hard way.” It all comes out the same.
When skepticism gives way to cynicism and that dissolves slowly into empathy, then amusement. I call it aging. I’d like to call it maturing, but I’m not comfortable with that. There was too much “learning the hard way.” And I am frequently reminded of my mother saying, “And a fool shall learn no other way.”
So don’t let them say you’re a bitter old person. Call it just a dry buy mature sense of humor.