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| Jing’s nice card to me |
Happy birthday to me, and to my eldest, Jane, born 1977 here in Hong Kong on this day. And blogger Ann Althouse. Happy birthday to us.
I remember, I remember. When people said “50 is the new 40”, then “60 is the new 50”. And then, in the middle of all that “Orange is the new Black”. Everything, it seemed, was the New something else. Until it wasn’t.
I turned 70, some years ago, and I thought “70 is not the new anything”. It’s just 70. With aches and pains.
Years ago I'd started adding years to my age. Asked how old I was, at, say, 42, I’d say I was 45. Waiting for the pay off: “Oh, you don’t look 45, how do you do it?”. Then I found I had to add more and more years, before I got the pay off. Until in my 60s, saying I was 80-odd, didn’t really ring true. But if I said less, I’d just get a nod. Like at the movies, when I asked for the elder discount, and they gave it me, without a question. When they used to say, “oh my goodness, you can’t be an elder! Could I see your ID?”.
So, now I’m mid 70s and Confucius has nothing to say about it.
As he says about every previous decade. You know the one, that I quote so often:
三十而立 (When you’re 30, stand on your own feet)
四十而不惑 (When you’re 40, don't be fooled by others)
五十而知天命 (When you’re 50, know the ways of heaven)
六十而耳顺 (When you’re 60, words don’t bother you)
七十而从心所欲 (When you’re 70, go wherever your heart desires)
And now I’ve passed the latest decade that Confucius could contemplate.
I’m now into a Contemplative Phase of life.
I’ve been blessed all my life. Born in Japan, straight after the war, brought up in Italy, New York, Germany, Australia, and later in South Africa, Tanzania, Laos, China.
I’ve been to every continent. To Antarctica twice. I’ve lived in six of them. I’ve had friends, family, in all. I’ve been blessed.
So, now, as I contemplate that I won’t be skiing again, or sailing again, or hiking again, I have no regret. I’ve done it. I’ve been blessed.
Contemplative means doing things at home. Writing. Calligraphy. Reading.
I don’t miss the others. I’m not giving up. I’m accepting.
My mother is 103 and still going strong. I’ve got to outlast her, or she’ll be sad that he only son has passed before her. Then I’m done. Life goes on. Just not mine. In due course. And that’s a fact.
Perhaps I could come up with an extra line to Confucius.
八十而受 Ba Shi, Er Shou
When you’re 80, accept.
