It’s inevitable, whether we like it or not. We might cheat on it with techniques put forward by doctors in hole-making or by doing yoga or other extreme sports. Needless to say, each passing year leaves a trace on our bodies and, to a lesser extent, on our minds. But, is growing older really growing “wiser”?
First of all, what is wisdom? How do we define a mind who possess such a trait, such a thought structure? These are not rhetorical questions, I suppose. It can’t be an open one, that’s for sure. The only thing these questions might open is a debate with whoever reads this late-night musing I have, to which I attempt to add a sprinkle of “poetry” (other attempts can be found further down this page. Thanks for reading.)
I, for one, do think that age and wisdom have a fusion, to an extent. I’m leaving the twenties behind for the roaring thunder of the thirties, in a few days. I’ll be an old schmuck with brown hair or I’ll perhaps even be a flavor of the month even though I never enjoyed the sweet perfume of being a celebrity. I sense that I digress, a little. All I’ll say is this: as far as I’m concerned, wisdom is like a mix between a good wine and a sense of whimsicality. If it is lost, this means that death is around the corner.