Dunkirk NY – I’ve been thinking lately about the notion of loss. As I survey the retirement horizon ahead, the idea that, on the whole, there is nothing left but the gradual experience of loss is becoming evident. I think that’s perhaps the hardest thing with which one has to come to grips as a person gets older.
Oddly enough, I have in my life up to now been spared a great deal of loss. Both my parents are alive and nearing 88, which is an achievement in itself. But naturally their loss is clearly on the 10-year-or-less horizon. I’ve been unemployed for only maybe 4 months out of my entire working career, so I’ve never lost a job. Retirement has meant that particular loss. On the whole, life moves forward for me as it always has. But there are some adjustments to be made.
Perhaps this sense of loss feels strong in me because I have no particular ambitions or goals at the present time. I feel no desire to achieve anything, no sense of needing to accomplish anything. My strongest urge is the one to travel. I’ve read many times that spending your money on experiences is better than spending it on stuff, but when you get right down to it, even memories fade, and one loses the exactness of those experiences.
Can loss be embraced? Is it possible to weave a life around loss, to find a way to experience loss as something joyful? Perhaps the answer lies in looking at ruins.
There is always a haunting beauty in ruins. You can see the beauty that once was there, and yet still the sense of loss prevails at what once was. There is always a grace to ruins, and a sense that, if left alone, time will give to the ruins its own sense of beauty and mystery.
It is easy to see this quality in buildings and structures, but less so in people. As a culture, we don’t tend to see old people in the same way we see old buildings or ancient forests. Perhaps the trick is not to grow old, but instead, to become a ruin.