The new age
How old were you tomorrow? How old will you be yesterday?
Sometimes mortality arrives in your mailbox without fanfare. This week I received a letter from the International Brotherhood of Magicians (the other IBM), to which I belong and apparently have for some time, as you will see. “Congratulations and welcome to the Order of Merlin,” the letter said. A big, official seal at the top of the page let me know this was legit. And serious.
I was taken aback, because I had seen the Order of Merlin mentioned many times in the IBM’s monthly magazine over the years, with photos of its members posing with our president at an annual induction ceremony held in their honor. And I always thought those folks looked old … for the Order of Merlin is not what you might be thinking it is. It was established in 1966, decades before the fictional Harry Potter version first saw light of day. This real-world Order of Merlin isn’t a special coven of tricksters who have reached a higher echelon of trickery. It’s not a secret society of Dumbledore lookalikes. It merely means that I have belonged to the IBM for 25 consecutive years. Today there are 3,300 of us in the world. There are higher Merlin-ordered milestone tiers, for 35, 50 and 60 years (“Shield,” “Excalibur” and “Excelsior,” respectively), but 25 is the start of the downward slope.
How did that happen? How did I get so old so fast?
When I hear someone say, “Sixty is the new 40” and such, I’m reminded of something my mother once said to my sister, something that has stayed with me. Probably to my mother’s bemusement, my sister was complaining about her own daughter, who was a teenager at the time and driving her crazy.
“Why, when I was her age …” my sister began.
“But you were never her age,” my mother interjected.
It was a profound bit of motherly wisdom. My sons are 32 and 29, and they are living a different 32 and 29 than I did. The world is smaller, more frenetic and more dangerous now than it was when I was 32 and 29. It is also perhaps more connected—and disconnected—than it ever was in any age. My 32 wasn’t my son Jay’s 32. My 29, the year I became a father, wasn’t my son Dan’s 29. They are in some ways both older and younger than I was at those ages. Jay is the new age of 32; Dan is the new age of 29. More to the point, they are their 29 and 32. And my mother? She will be the new 99 in just a few short weeks, her 99, as wise and as beautiful as ever.
Seen in this way, 50 is the new 50. Sixty-five is the new 65 and 48 is the new 48. Seventy is the new 70. Thirty is the new 30. We were never their age, but we are always ours. We’re always new. And I think that’s okay.
You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.So many live on and want nothing,
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.– Rainer Maria Rilke