The field of brownish dry cornstalks rustles in the wind. Waves of uniform rolling movement. The river responds correspondingly – rippled plateaux flying across the surface of the water like the reflection of a fugitive cloud above. This morning when asked, “What’s the news?”, I hadn’t much to say.  We’ve nothing planned. There’s been nothing of import lately. But privately I’m getting a grip on life.

For the past seven decades – that is, the transition from childhood to old age, my vision of life has modified beyond what I might now call clarity. The admission that I see things differently is not an acknowledgment of error. That I see things astutely is more a reward than a compliment. Obviously the exigencies of life alter radically with age. Youth is the crucible of everything; age is the distillation of it. Perhaps it is audacious of me to assume that, with age, I am entitled to draw useful conclusions from a lifetime. It is not a project of interest to some, I am certain. I do however ungrudgingly speculate that there are many for whom reflection upon the past is both meaningful and entertaining.

Oddly my summary of the meaning of life – rendered in this palatable characterization – is that its authority is local. While this may sound obscure or undefined, it is nothing more than alignment with and deference to old age. Just as the meaning of life while young is patently different from its assessment in old age, so too having a grip on life – and the clarity to formulate it – differs.

Residue is now important. Memories bubble within. Forgotten sketches that suddenly appear carry sensations as sharp as ginger tea.

The risk to clarity is avidity. The ardour – that favourable engagement with life – can on occasion translate to voraciousness or outright greed. This is not to say that life has disqualifying limits. There are always limits. Nor is this testimony to life’s bitter sweetness but rather to our capacity for its digestion. In that respect the limits are within each of us. Which naturally explains why the experience of life is likewise different for each of us. Confessing these awakening boundaries is part of the scheme to getting a grip on life. Once we’ve survived the platitudes and axioms of life – once we’ve removed ourselves from the spirit from without in favour of the spirit from within – we are positioned to get a grip on life.

The convenience of logic – notwithstanding its appearance of formality and ingenuity – is of little avail in this exclusively personal matter. As so often occurs, sentient thought (or gut reaction) is incapable of conforming to a subscribed pattern of logic. This must not be mistaken for proper thinking. Instead one must train the mind to connect from the heart to the viscera.  It is an avenue of success though it may require an extension of time before it is fully realized. The model of validity may be perfected by daily dialectics enforcing the identical principle – or what some have called, “Trust your instincts!” Its direct and unglamorous prescription is not to be underestimated. Just as youthful thoughts took time to percolate, so too do those of old age. Meanwhile the overwhelming challenge is paradoxically not to find the answer; rather, it is taking the time to get a grip on it.