On Autumn, and Growing Older

Growing older is an unquestionably sad enterprise. Like the leaf on the tree, we admire our blossoming beauty as we mature. We marvel at the artistry as we see ourselves, and our peers grow yellow, brown, and red. How spectacular, how perfectly inevitable it is when the leaves are blown off in a winter wind. For conscious creatures such as ourselves, with our rich and seemingly eternal inner lives, this cycle can be difficult to weather.

Each of us burst through the unlikely soils of this Earth, sprung leaves of optimistic green and shot for sunlight. Those taller than us, those whose dark leaves shaded our own, remarked at our ability to thrive. To grow. We ourselves were not sure what kind of tree, or plant, or flower we would even be. We just grew, exceeding all expectations with every passing day.

Now we all reach an age when we are mature, when we are as green as we can be. As big as we will be. As tall as we can grow. At this stage comes a difficult realisation. I am what I am. I am what I have always been becoming, and what I always would be. No longer can I delay the moment of assessment with the excuse that I am still growing up. And what am I? Am I what I wanted to be? When plants grow, they seldom follow a strict path, they just shoot upwards. And don’t all of us? Wander forwards until we reach such a point as to stop, and take a look around?

For me, this moment was the moment it truly resonated with me that we have no control over our lives. And before you argue, think about it. Our decisions are made by our brains, which were made by our parents and then molded by experience. That experience is created by the world around us, which is full of randomly colliding figures all operating on just as formulaic a set of impulses.

Without the blinding effect of youth and optimism, it becomes clear that if our current state is inevitable, the rich maturity  of summer, then inevitable too is the brittle darkness of winter. And at this stage it seems difficult to see a point in the whole swirling dance.

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