Today I celebrate my fiftieth birthday. For those of you who have beat me to this milestone, you know that it really doesn’t feel any different from day 364 of your 49th year (or even your 48th year, for that matter). But there is something about turning half-a-century that gives pause. While I do not embrace the black-balloons-over-the-hill-everything-is-downhill-from-here-on outlook on the latter half of my life, I have been occasionally tormented by night-thoughts.
As summer drew to a close, for example, I found myself in one of those dark nights of the soul contemplating contrasting visions of old age. On one hand, I had the living testimonies of my own father and mother-in-law; on the other, those who have truly lived a full life, whose eyes (and minds) and vitality remained undiminished by age. And while I confidently believe that life choices now will impact the quality of my life then, there are times when one’s firsthand experiences with growing old loom larger than the hopeful vision. And so, I celebrate this day by committing my life afresh to the Father’s hands, fixing my creative imaginings on Him who promises to keep me in perfect peace regardless of age (Isaiah 26:3).
Reflections on Old Age
Reflections on Old Age
by Vincent H. Anastasi – August 2026
I. “A Paltry Thing“
Behold the mocking sorrows of old age:
to soil the lean and slippered pantaloon,
to lose the words effaced from mem’ries page
and shuffle aimlessly from room to room;
to grow impatient with humanity
forgetting one’s own desp’rate need for grace,
the longing for reciprocity
of list’ning ears and willing arms embrace;
to lie awake at night through silent hours
and narcoleptic wile away day’s pains,
to watch as younger souls lay waste their pow’rs
while dreams survive, but little more remains.
Tonight this fragile vision haunts my soul
and brokenness is all I seem to know.
II. “Wrinkled Ripe Fulfillment“
Behold the crowning laurels of old age:
to toil no more beneath the yoke of need,
to gain the honor paid to one so sage
and scorn the shallow value placed on speed;
to grow contented with community
remembering the gift of time and place,
the longing met for reciprocity
in solitude or shared when face-to-face;
to greet each sunset fading in the west
as herald to the final end of pains,
to hear your children’s children call you blessed
and cast the holy vision life profanes.
Today these thoughts against my doubts arise
with Phoenix flames restoring blinded eyes.
The above is Certified Human Content™. Verify here.
Join Writers Against AI at The Abbey of Misrule
Leave a comment