The Wikiness

Believe it or not, at age 64, the age Paul McCartney’s song suggests that lovers are dropped for being too old, I retain many of the capacities I had thirty years ago. 

I can still travel miles under my own power, see with 20/20 vision, hear a full spectrum of audible sound, and savor all of the smells and flavors on the menu.  I can even do things I couldn’t have at age 24, like play a passable solo on electric guitar, deadlift almost twice my weight, and maintain my equanimity (meaning not no anxiety, but no sleepless nights) for months at a time.

But there are certainly things I can no longer do. 

Some are related to my changing physical state. They include things I did that brought me ecstasy with no bad consequences, like drinking alcohol all day and night, or consuming all the ultraprocessed food and drink I wished. Now my sensitive body revolts from biochemical assault. In return for a few minutes’ pleasure, I get headaches, bloating, dyspepsia, and ruined sleep. 

Neither can I style a full head of hair or lead a sedentary lifestyle without feeling excruciating restlessness. Nor can I have three orgasms inside 24 hours. My testosterone levels these days are lower, though still sufficient to propel me into the arms of life.

Just as I have lost physical capacity, so I mentally no longer subject myself to practices that younger me engaged in. For example, I no longer spend time and energy with people who don’t improve me. Nor do I stay plugged in to news media for most of the day, as I did all those decades addicted to reconnaissance. 

My drugs of choice were National Public Radio and leftist publications, which constantly pressed the brain’s  empathy and anger triggers, attaching me to causes and pushing me to partisan sides I couldn’t fully understand. I see now how manipulative, limiting, and exhausting such dependence was. Feeling “up to date” sacrificed peace of mind.

Now, I sip from a variety of info springs across the spectrum. I fly  above, as it were, seeing their sources and ends, and resisting their seductive pull.

Some of what I can no longer do comes from  increased knowledge. I can’t unlearn something. Once the mind expands to frame reality more completely, there’s no going back, short of dementia or amnesia.

For instance, I no longer simultaneously hold religious belief and skepticism. From fear and strong conditioning, I used to call myself “a Christian” while harboring doubts. Now my comparative religion filter is on nonstop, and that energy-sapping cognitive dissonance is gone. 

I now believe that awareness of awareness is the pathway to transcendence. The “peace that passes understanding” can be found in acknowledging consciousness itself as the ultimate reality.

Finally, I find that with the loss of that youthful confidence in eternal sunshine, I cannot live a day without the grounding awareness of mortality, disease, and disability. 

Thus, every day, I cannot go long without the mental balm of gratitude for what I still possess in health and function.