Contemplations: Eight Decades of Life
Netherlands, 4.2.2024
As I stand at the threshold of eighty, I find myself deeply attuned to life’s relentless cadence—its tragedies and fleeting joys. The sun rises and sets, marking each day’s passage, eventually setting for the last time for every soul. Surveying life’s banquet, I notice numerous vacant chairs, a stark reminder of the unfinished symphony that is existence. For we never discern when the ferry to our final voyage will depart.
Arriving at the winter of my journey, I’m reminded of my birth amidst the tumult of the great war—a cataclysmic mirror reflecting humanity’s deepest divides. Having traversed two distinct centuries, founded my first company in my youth, and now sharing a temporal alignment with Joe Biden, I find myself suspended between the transient and the eternal.
Cicero’s timeless dictum echoes in my mind: “a house without books is like a body without a soul.” For me, books, chess, classical melodies, and paintings are not mere accoutrements but essential companions in this voyage. Among them, Cicero’s reflections in “On Old Age” offer solace and wisdom, guiding me through this phase of life. Cicero posits that a life well-lived is the prelude to a contented old age—a sentiment I hold dear.
The ninth decade beckons a rekindling of old melodies—the croon of Miles Davis, the blues of Ray Charles, the charm of Frank Sinatra, the poetry of Roger McKuen—all woven into the cultural tapestry I once inhabited.
Through the labyrinth of eight decades, I’ve gleaned wisdom as a reflective yet steadfast individual. Acknowledging the onset of decline, I embrace it without sorrow, recognizing its inevitability in the grand symphony of our existence.
At eighty, I acknowledge contradictions, opinions are forged by experience and temperament, tempered by the activities that nourish the mind. As a more observant spectator than an active participant, peace within oneself becomes paramount. With fewer years ahead than behind, daily walks become sacraments of health, echoing the truism that wealth resides in well-being, not in material possessions.
In this phase, days drift by in tranquil reverie, where reason eclipses superstition, and every furrow on the face tells a tale of its own. The epoch where pivotal decisions are etched in memory, and the fabric of mistakes is woven into the narrative of life.
Occasionally, I cast my gaze back upon the defining moments of yesteryears—innocent days spent on a quiet lane, sheltered by the embrace of loving parents and the wisdom of a grandfather. Memories of carefree days with companions, and two New Foundland dogs, evoke a sense of gratitude for a childhood unburdened by the pressures of modernity.
Reflecting on the ebbs and flows, I acknowledge the pivotal choices that shaped my trajectory, the lands I traversed, and the friends who departed from life’s grand stage.
With the passage of time comes acceptance, a serene acquiescence to the station in life attained, adorned with few regrets. In the twilight of existence, one embraces nature’s decree, gazing toward the horizon with hope and anticipation for the mysteries that lie ahead.
WJJH – 4.2.2024
Musings on the question: “How does the passage of time influence your perspective on life?” At the age of eighty, reflecting on life’s passage and the wisdom gained, while embracing the inevitability of aging and cherishing memories of a childhood free from modern pressures. Accepting the choices that shaped life, while looking toward the future with hope and anticipation.
In what kind of world do we wish to live 