Most every morning I get woke up by Marlowe, my cat, who most know is the inspiration for INK. After appeasing him with his morning breakfast, I drive to a local park to do a morning walk. It is an old park that used to be where I rode motorcycles when I was a kid. Back before it was cultivated into a park with a nature trail, it was nothing more than boondocks where we ratted about on our cycles and bikes, jumping gullies and knolls.
I suppose it is my morning spiritual communion. I get lost in nature and become not so important. After you leave the paved walkway and meander on small trails that break away into the overgrowth, you become more aware of how an ecosystem can become an entity. Trees stand like silent sentinels filled with arcane, forgotten lore and stories, watch over you as you pass through. Some, covered with vines, honeysuckle and poison oak seem aware of your presence. The undergrowth is alive, teaming with insects as the process of decay begins its work turning fallen limbs and trees into fertile soil.
Bird song fills the air while squirrels dance madly from limb to limb. The pond the trail encompasses is alive with an underwater world that hints at mysteries and breaks off into creeks that gave birth to small bridges. Nature has a way of reminding us just how small we are and how large its mystery is.
I will be turning sixty-five in December. I already feel it. I am an old cat now. Gravity is not as friendly as it used to be and sometimes it makes me feel like I am heavier. Reflexes slow, knees do not seem to be resilient. Your feet tend to plod, and the nimbleness of youth seems to wane. You realize age is diminishing you in a world that celebrates youth.
Recently it was reported that one third of people over sixty live alone and over fifty percent over eighty are solo dwellers in our society. Soon the number of older people in this country will increase. I am curious on how this will change the landscape.
In the past year since Covid broke out among the populace I have been reading books on aging and listening to podcasts on living alone. I am also a sucker for audio books that I listen to as I either draw or work on a project. Thomas Moore, a psychotherapist who wrote “Dark Night of the Soul” (not to be confused with Thomas Moore who wrote the poem “Dark Night of the Soul) also wrote a book entitled “Ageless Soul” dealing with growing older.
I would be lying if I did not say I was afraid of growing older. But I have learned to channel this fear into creativity. It is the nature of things. You are not always going to get what you want out of life and sometimes you will not always get what you deserve. For me, creativity keeps me alive. This does not mean creativity makes me sane though, in fact, it may lead to me being foolish and even more eccentric. I can always use the excuse I am becoming senile.
Which leads me to a talk the actor, writer Ethan Hawk gave on Ted Talks.
I do not think old age is what you make it, I believe it is more about how you deal with it. It can become a personal Renaissance, or it could devolve into a bleak waiting room waiting for Death to show up and tell you it is time to clock out.
Me, if Death shows up, I hope it is Neil Gaiman’s incarnation of Morpheus’ sister and I ask her before we go to come up to my room and look at my sketches. Maybe I will get lucky.
NOTE: INK now has his own collection on Zazzle.
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