Once we reach the eighties, we begin to realize that we have more past than we have future. And there is nothing wrong with that as memories of the past can be wonderful: the joy of accomplishments, the new baby’s first cry, the ideal job that dropped out of the sky, the family we love. But there are memories that are not so wonderful: the little girl with braids in third grade that made our life miserable, the unkind job interviewer, the mean neighbor, etc.
A friend once gave me the best definition of old age that I have ever heard. She was in her eighties at the time, and she said that the problems involved in growing older were ‘the accumulation of life’s unsolved problems.’ Where is that little girl from third grade? Maybe she turned into a wonderful person helping to end world hunger. Or not. It really does not matter. She has probably long forgotten us and all that memory is doing is pulling our thought down. Why not forgive her and move on?
It seems that in our shortened future, there may be much work to be done. Surely there is a feeling of freedom and lightness when old resentments (or new ones for that matter) are swept away. We can stand taller and go out the door with a song in our hearts. Something to be cherished in the now.