Shrinking

The older you get, the smaller you become.

Day by day, this is more obvious to me. A grain of sand. Dust in the wind. Call it what you will, it's a smallness I feel in every bone in my body.

My world exists mostly within these four walls. I live, eat, and work here. Mr. Ginley is my constant companion. And Maggie, of course. She sleeps most of the time but makes it a habit to do so next to my work computer, so her presence is welcome.

I look back with a combination of fondness and chagrin on my former self. Like a chrysalis, I've shed my ambitions, any dreams I had of the future, but I don't feel much like a butterfly. Except that I realize how brief life really is. It's become a day-at-a-time affair, no pretense that there will be a tomorrow.

So I take up amusements like puzzles, binge watching, and books. I scroll a bit on FB, but not too much, because the outside world is a fearsome place. I enjoy my homemade hot chocolate and having weird conversations with Mr. Ginley about our shared past, music, and just about anything else you could imagine (or couldn't).

We here have become like the man in the boat in Thomas Cole's Voyage of Life. Unlike the earlier depiction of the man's life, when he's in full control of the craft and his future lies in the calm of the river ahead, at this stage, the river is churning and the boat is taking him wherever it will go. There's no controlling it. 

We haven't reached the final panel yet, when the heavens open up and the angel comes for the old guy. I imagine that's when you reach the stage of acceptance. You know you can't control anything, the ride is coming to an end, and you give yourself over to it.

I suppose that's the real secret to aging with grace. The letting go. 

The Voyage of Life, By Thomas Cole - National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C., online collection, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=182995