Only Guessing

Ego.  I forget whether children have it or develop it.  At first, they don't distinguish the world from the self.  They learn that.  By adolescence, that lesson is painful.  All heroes are in their thirties, when ego is in full bore.  At that point, we are about imposing our ego upon the world. Our forties are a shock, and the ego begins to make adjustments.  In our fifties, we have to begin to let the ego fade a bit, though we do begin to think about our legacy.  My mother's ego is pretty small now.  Once a true beauty, she has had to contend with the ravages of time.  Her pleasures are different now.  I still call her the same person, of course, but who really knows.

A friend's brother has contracted a disease that doctors do not know how to cure.  One dies from it, though the timeline is not fixed.  He is thirty-eight.  He has displayed plenty of ego.  His family, though, says that he is changed now.  He looks ill, they say, frail and unhealthy.  He did not tell his family about the disease for a long time.  He has gone to many doctors.  Perhaps, I think, all that he projected is gone.

When a person gets attacked by a lion, there are chemicals released in the brain that are soporific.  There is no pain, no panic, say survivors.  There is a release, a letting go and an acceptance.  I think there must be something similar when we find out we have had it.  Our world contracts, perhaps, to that which is closest to us.  All the rest, all the silliness that has concerned us of how we appear to others, may disappear.  There is some of that in mere aging.  Old people watching youth giggle at the silliness of it.  Ask your mother about Paris Hilton, for instance.

Still, I like youth.  It is wonderful.  I like the beauty and the silliness of it.  It is like a free pass to the carnival.  It is fascinating and wonderful.

But there is the other thing always on the periphery.  When it comes, we may find out what is important.  The rest of the time, we can only guess.