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Wisdom comes with winters

There are times when I think it might be a good idea to delete some of the apps on my phone -or at least learn not to be so attracted to rabbit holes, even if they seem to apply to me. Of course, maybe that’s why I’m getting so many: the algorithm has guessed my age, and decided what I might find interesting; what I might be unable to resist. It assumes my cognitive capacities are trackable, predictable, diminished; I mean why else would it be so sure I’d take its bait?

According to an article in theconversation.com[i], I’m past it, though: the peak of my psychological functioning petered out somewhere around 20 plus years ago. I’m glad I wasn’t aware of that then, or I would have retired long before I did and maybe taken out religious orders in an obscure mountain cloister where it wouldn’t much matter.

I’m not talking about the mythical physical peak, of course; mine left me unawares in my late 20ies -a time when I was still in a postgrad university program and had little time to flaunt anything physical to anything eligible. I’m not bemoaning my fate mind you; just a little surprised -okay, disappointed. Being single at a dinner party for couples was never easy in the old days: someone equally unqualified would usually be seated quite purposely next to me at the table, and I was always shy when my mouth was full. I thought I’d been invited for the food, eh?

But I suppose it was all for the better: ‘A large body of research also shows that people’s raw intellectual abilities – that is, their capacity to reason, remember and process information quickly – typically starts to decline from the mid-twenties onwards.’ Oh yes, and ‘Mathematicians often make their most significant contributions by their mid-thirties. Chess champions are rarely at the top of their game after 40.’ Good to know, although I don’t remember excelling at anything like that anyway. I was, however, heartened that emotional stability peaked around age 75. Currently 7 years or so past that deadline, I’m still waiting impatiently for my turn.

I should have deleted the article right then and there however: ‘Overall mental functioning peaked between ages 55 and 60, before beginning to decline from around 65. That decline became more pronounced after age 75, suggesting that later-life reductions in functioning can accelerate once they begin.’ Accelerate!!?

At least there was a sop to those of us who made it that far along the page, fingers tracing out each word, and mumbling incoherently to ourselves: ‘while some adults show declines in reasoning speed and memory, others also maintain these abilities well into later life.’ Maybe the editors made the author add that as an addendum to prevent any self-harm; or maybe it was added as a sort of sample epitaph for those whose relatives needed something to say at the funeral.

Still, ‘the capacity to resist cognitive biases – mental shortcuts that can lead us to make irrational or less accurate decisions – may continue improving well into the 70s and even 80s,’ -assuming you still remember what you were supposed to decide, of course. It explains why ‘many of the most demanding leadership roles in business, politics, and public life are often held by people in their fifties and early sixties. So while several abilities decline with age, they’re balanced by growth in other important traits. Combined, these strengths support better judgement and more measured decision-making – qualities that are crucial at the top.’ I missed out on that one as well.

However, I suppose wherever you stand on a ladder there’s always an up and a down: you’re usually more confident on the less wobbly bottom steps, and can feel the tug of Eternity increasingly evident as you ascend. In the earlier days, I tried not to think of this universal law the higher I climbed despite the heavier accumulation of years I was increasingly forced to carry along with me;

I’m not sure ladders were designed for octogenarians, although I seem to remember putting (hiding?) one somewhere in the cellar (a ladder though, eh? Not someone I walled up when I sent them to search for Poe’s cask of Amontillado down there). Anyway, the ladder only has 3 steps so I never use it; it’s an embarrassing reminder of my frailties; I figure ladders are why grown children were invented.

No, I think that the few, albeit diminishing rewards of Age, are the mementoes I’ve gathered along the way. Not Wisdom, not Wealth, and probably only a soupçon of Respect; more like the memories I’ve managed to tuck in back pockets and then forgotten about them… I would only find the crumpled scraps if someone who experienced them with me found them while cleaning the closet and corrected my recollection -tore them up, in other words. Even the cleaning ladies don’t go in there, however.

So, no doubt my 82 year old declination is camouflaged as my ability to feel scrunched up memories diminishes in the nether regions of my ill lit cabinet where the unused shirts and pants in which I might once have saved them have fallen, or been donated to the Salvation Army. As I write, someone else is perhaps reliving my memories vicariously.

There comes a time, I think, when almost winning a race on Sports Day in Grade 8 is no longer an issue; when coming first in a Grade 3 spelling bee doesn’t matter; when a girl for whom I’d bought flowers for our first date forgot I’d even asked her out when I knocked at her door. These memories are declines I can live without now. And anyway, how many other things have I forgotten; how many other things can I no longer do? Am I enrolled in a contest?

As Oscar Wilde suggested, the tragedy of growing old is not that one is old, but that one is young. Nowadays, I try to find puzzles I’m pretty sure I can solve, and forget the rest. And anyway, who would I tell? To whom would I brag about what I can do at my age without feeling embarrassed that I have to mention it in the first place?

I live alone; there are no requests.

[i] https://theconversation.com/worried-about-turning-60-science-says-thats-when-many-of-us-actually-peak-267215

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