I Was Fully Prepared to Grow Old Alone. Then Two Scoundrels Showed Up.
These days I procrastinate so much more than I used to, and that's saying something, because I always considered myself a professional in that department. Some days, when I decide I really must get out of the house, I have a private moment of nostalgia, thinking of friends from long ago. By the time I've run through the list, it's somehow 9 PM, and I'm still in my pyjamas!
Those old friends seem to have vanished and gone like wisps of smoke blown away by a light breeze — or, more likely, swept away by mortgages, children and grandchildren, and the sofa's specific gravity. Consequently, that circle of friends has shrunk to the point that calling it a "circle" is optimistic. It's more of a dot.
A single, well-worn dot.
It reached the point where I assumed I would simply run out of candidates who could fit the "new friend" status. I pictured my future: a nice armchair, a good view, and nobody to ruin it. Frankly, I had made peace with it. I'd even begun to enjoy it.
And then, unaccountably, with no warning, two grown men — who really should’ve known better — wandered into my life and wrecked the whole plan.
There's something about reaching a certain age: you finally develop standards when it comes to interacting with other people. I tire of self-opinionated, toxic, sour, spoiled, and selfish people — I used to tolerate those types. Now I simply walk away. Life’s too short to waste what's left of my life on somebody else’s ego.
I began to think you stopped making friends as you got older. But I have discovered that the opposite is true. Friendships have their own ebbs and flows, and there's something almost beautiful about how organically new ones arrive — you're not looking, you're not trying, you're just minding your own business, and suddenly you have a friend.
It's a bit like a stray cat. You didn't ask for it, but now you find yourself feeding it!
It's practically a new lease of life.
In my case, I didn’t restrict myself to one stray cat; I ended up with two.
What they have done to me is that, through them, I get a glimpse of my teenage years again, because they understand the concept of "mischief" perfectly — better than is really appropriate for men who technically qualify for a senior's discount.
As I've got older, I can spot trouble a mile away, and believe me, this is a massive personal improvement. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about my new pals, who appear to spot trouble a mile away and then walk straight towards it, waving.
Again, I say to myself, "I'm too old for this," and it usually spares me a great deal of suffering — there being, as we all know, plenty of that going around without seeking out more. But the moment I'm with these two reprobates, that sentiment flies straight out the window, closely followed by my better judgement and, on one occasion, my dignity.
I suspect at least one of them lives by Mark Twain's philosophy, which he once expressed:
"I have achieved my seventy years in the usual way: by sticking strictly to a scheme of life which would kill anybody else."
While the other one is best summed up by Churchill.
"Don't worry about avoiding temptation — as you grow older, it will avoid you."
Which, frankly, has not been my experience with these two. If anything, temptation has their number on speed-dial.
These two scoundrels have taught me that youth is wonderful, and it really is a crime to waste it on children — because inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the fuck happened!
Growing old, they remind me, is mandatory. Growing up is entirely optional, and they have both chosen the latter with gusto.
They take great pleasure in informing me — cheerfully and often — that I'll eventually lose my mind, but not to worry, as I won't miss it much. Also, I am told to learn to appreciate the big things in life, like large text on your phone.
Never forget the large text.
At this age, you become wise enough to watch your step, and you quickly realise it's too much effort to go anywhere in the first place, which rather solves the problem on its own.
Remember the old adage: old age isn't so bad when you consider the alternative.
I was ready to grow old quietly. Perhaps I should be embarrassed by that. I'm not, as these two definitely have other plans. I'm just grateful that nobody warned them in time.
I love them both dearly.
Paul v Walters is an author of several novels and an anthology of short stories. His latest offering, RITUAL, was recently launched aty the International Ubud Readers and Writers Festival
