We rose at daylight, went to bed when it got dark, and aimed our sailboat in whatever direction the wind, weather, and currents allowed us to go. Because there was nothing I had to do and no place I had to be—indeed, most days my biggest decision was what to fix for dinner—I discovered what it meant to simply “be.”
Those years of being rather than doing were the happiest—in the sense of pure contentment—of my life. But my inability to hang on to that sense of contentment in the years since the sailing voyage ended has been a constant source of disappointment.
I rationalized its absence while I was back in the competitive world of high finance, assuming it would re-emerge when I retired. To my dismay, it did not. Even in retirement, I seemed to still be defined by what I accomplished. Co-teaching a comparative religion class at a local university. Chairing the board of a mental health agency. Planning a trip to Rome for Kent’s 75th birthday. Editing a friend’s memoir.
But no matter how much I accomplish, the shadow of old age looms on the horizon. With each passing day, I have a few more wrinkles, a bit less energy, and an ever-increasing list of words that are no longer at the tip of my tongue.
Why am I so determined to pretend I am still in the prime of life?
That is the question at the heart of Daniel Klein’s delightful Travels with Epicurus. In this lovely little tome, Klein revisits the Greek communities he knew as a young man, as well as the philosophers—among them Epicurus—who inspired him to live life well and to the fullest.
Now, in his 70’s, he muses on how the meaning of living life well has changed over 50 years. Throughout this geographic and literary travelogue, Klein asks whether trying to “extend the prime of life into old age” causes us to miss out on what is most valuable about growing old—and being old.
Drawing on the wisdom of his philosopher friends, Klein observes that in old age, you have the freedom to savor every moment for itself rather than what it represents … your friends are companions rather than connections … the person with whom you dine is more important than what you eat.
But, he notes again and again, the ability to savor those moments and those friends depends on your ability to step away from the often self-imposed notion that your worth is based on what you do rather than who you are.
Reading his book was a bit of an epiphany. Over the years, it seems I have put “finding contentment” on the list of all those things I ought to do. Reading Klein, it struck me that if I simply allow myself to grow old—instead of trying to stay forever young—contentment might actually find me.
Are you willing to step out of the stream and lean into old age?
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