My friend Charles Platt, on aging:
"The mosaic metaphor (this is not a cheerful post):
When I was aged between around 20 and 50, the mosaic of friends in my life continued to grow. I met new people, new projects were initiated, and bold plans were made. Once in a while a person would die, leaving a black void where a richly colored mosaic-tile had been. But the remaining tiles somehow expanded to fill the absence--until, as the aging process really started to bite, tiles began to disappear at an accelerating and frightening rate, and the world of people I cared about started to shrink. Even among those who were still alive, early ambitions were lost, forgotten, or invalidated. Age-related diseases started to inhibit those who had once been adventurous. Because I have always been rebellious by nature, I have tried to defy that grim process; I still do the things I used to do, from thinking of new books to write, to climbing rocky hillsides. Still, I cannot ignore what is happening to those I care for.
My father died when he was 95. By that time, the mosaic of people in his life had diminished to the point where there were only a handful of tiles left, and the life-picture that had once been so highly colored and full of opportunities was mostly dark. He had no disabilities, other than a bad back, but he decided to stop eating, and died of malnutrition.
When I was young, I thought I was realistic about the aging process and its consequences--but I could not understand it on a visceral level. When I saw the tiles in the mosaic winking out of existence in increasing numbers, then I began to understand.
73 people whom I cared about, to varying degrees, have now died. One for each year of my life. The aging process has always been my greatest enemy, and the enemy of us all; yet curiously, it has never been a high priority in medical research. I feel as if I am in a giant bus racing toward the edge of a cliff, because the brakes and steering have failed; but our most talented engineers are busy vacuuming the floor mats and waxing the paint job."
"The mosaic metaphor (this is not a cheerful post):
When I was aged between around 20 and 50, the mosaic of friends in my life continued to grow. I met new people, new projects were initiated, and bold plans were made. Once in a while a person would die, leaving a black void where a richly colored mosaic-tile had been. But the remaining tiles somehow expanded to fill the absence--until, as the aging process really started to bite, tiles began to disappear at an accelerating and frightening rate, and the world of people I cared about started to shrink. Even among those who were still alive, early ambitions were lost, forgotten, or invalidated. Age-related diseases started to inhibit those who had once been adventurous. Because I have always been rebellious by nature, I have tried to defy that grim process; I still do the things I used to do, from thinking of new books to write, to climbing rocky hillsides. Still, I cannot ignore what is happening to those I care for.
My father died when he was 95. By that time, the mosaic of people in his life had diminished to the point where there were only a handful of tiles left, and the life-picture that had once been so highly colored and full of opportunities was mostly dark. He had no disabilities, other than a bad back, but he decided to stop eating, and died of malnutrition.
When I was young, I thought I was realistic about the aging process and its consequences--but I could not understand it on a visceral level. When I saw the tiles in the mosaic winking out of existence in increasing numbers, then I began to understand.
73 people whom I cared about, to varying degrees, have now died. One for each year of my life. The aging process has always been my greatest enemy, and the enemy of us all; yet curiously, it has never been a high priority in medical research. I feel as if I am in a giant bus racing toward the edge of a cliff, because the brakes and steering have failed; but our most talented engineers are busy vacuuming the floor mats and waxing the paint job."