Overall, physically I do not feel much different from, say, 15 years ago. I consider myself lucky, since I am generally in good health. Never have I had to sleep in a hospital bed, not a single night. I will spare you a list of all the minor health problems I had in my life, but the list would be very short anyway.
Yet I know this is bound to change. 45 years of age is roughly the time when some of our physical faculties start to decline at a faster rate than in the previous 20 years. One of the sharpest changes which occurs at this age in most individuals is the loss of focusing ability at short distance: presbyopia, a loss of elasticity of the crystalline. I am just now starting to detect the first signs of that condition.
Presbyopia is not a concern - a pair of glasses will fix it. Other changes are more annoying: sleeping becomes harder, physical fitness is more complicated to maintain, and a general deterioration from the aesthetic point of view can be detected: wrinkles, grey hair, hair thinning and loss, new formations on the skin, etcetera. I am not immune to any of that, of course, and I do feel concerned by "not looking good" any more... But I consider myself lucky to belong to a category of human beings who remain attractive and charming even at a mature age, because of their intrinsic charisma and their intellect.
What really counts to me, however, is that I feel I am the same person I was 30 years ago: I am really young at heart. I do not see much change in the way I see the world, in what amuses me, and most of all in the rather reckless, fatalist way I look at things. I still consider life a game, and I still play it to enjoy it rather than to win anything. The prize, after all, is not given at the end of your life -it is what you have lived until the end.
A few verses of a very beautiful poem come to my mind - Ithaca, written in 1911 by Konstantinos Kavafis. Let me paste it here, in a translation.
When you leave for Ithaca, may your journey be long and full of adventures and knowledge.Do not be afraid of Laestrigones, Cyclopes or furious Poseidon; you won’t come across them on your way if you don’t carry them in your soul, if your soul does not put them in front of your steps.
I hope your road is long. May there be many a summer morning, and may ports for the first time seen bring you great joy.
May you stop at Phoenician marts, to purchase there the best of wares, mother-of-pearl and coral, amber, ebony, hedonic perfumes of all sorts; may you go to various Egyptian towns and learn from a people with so much to teach.
Don’t lose sight of Ithaca, for that’s your destination. But take your time; better that the journey lasts many a year and that your boat only drops anchor on the island when you have grown rich with what you learned on the way.
Don’t expect Ithaca to give you many riches. Ithaca has already given you a fine voyage; without Ithaca you would never have parted. Ithaca gave you everything and can give you no more.
If in the end you think that Ithaca is poor, don’t think that she has cheated you. Because you have grown wise and lived an intense life, and that’s the meaning of Ithaca.
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