I was out yesterday evening with several bright, vivacious women. Upon reflection, I am reminded of a post from a couple of years ago, an excerpt of which I have pasted in, below.
This post is for someone I tried to explain things to, and failed. Maybe this will help that person understand.
I think I've made a discovery - a rather melancholy discovery, but a discovery nonetheless. And it has to do with possibilities. And it has to do with how men age. Mentally. You see, we don't feel much different than we did when we were kids. If it wasn't for the changing face in the mirror, we would never be aware of aging, inside, in our heads. The body knows, but not the mind. Until one day ... one day you see it ... and it comes on you slowly .. but once you see the beginnings of it ... it never leaves you, it just grows. And then you come to the full blown realization .. that there are some things that are over .. important things ... things you never thought about, consciously, until now .. now that they are over.
When a young man sees a woman, a beautiful woman, a desireable woman, a young woman, in his mind he sees himself with her - he sees the possibility of being with her - because it IS possible, all it needs are the right circumstances - the right chain of events and she could be his - and he, hers. But comes a time, when a man comes to know that the young, beautiful women are beyond him, that there is no more possibility, that they will never be his, nor he, their's. They would have no interest in him any longer - other, younger men are their interest - he is beyond them and they beyond him. But, it isn't the fact that he is off the radar of the younger woman. It's the fact that there has been a sea change in his world of possibilities. He's beginning to realize he doesn't matter as much, anymore. He doesn't make the impact that he once did. It is a cold and hard realization. All the confidence and self-esteem that used to be his begins to wane. He begins to understand what lies ahead. He may try to fight it. He may try to delay it. But it WILL overtake him. He will see and begin his descent into aged invisibility. No matter what his life holds for him - no matter what his circumstances, he will always look back, over his shoulder, to what he used to be, and wish for that to come again - knowing it never will.
To the extent that I should be able to grow old gracefully - without the tug of memory forcing me to look back over my shoulder at what used to be - blogging causes me a certain melancholy, at times. But how empty would certain aspects of my life be without it?
Ndinombethe. Truly, "as I go, I am wearing you."