The Spirit of Youth

The process of maturing is an art to be learned, an effort to be sustained. By the age of fifty you have made yourself what you are, and if it is good, it is better than your youth. ~Marya Mannes, More in Anger, 1958

A week in from my 50th birthday, a little more, and so far the effort to be sustained, the determination to start on a new path, has held sway. The art, however, may have to wait a bit. My goal for this week was simple: get up early every day and walk. No excuses. Every day. Don't have to set any records, it's not a race, just get out of bed and walk. My body resisted with a litany of complaints, my mind mumbled sleepy objections, but the spirit rose up and prevailed, and I walked. Every day.

I remember that spirit. It's something I treasure most from my youth, when I threw myself at every challenge I could dream up, and then some. The harder the task, the better I liked it. But somewhere along the way, that spirit dwindled, or perhaps it changed into something else that I did not quite recognize, like long hours sitting at a desk. It's as if the daily drudgery of responsible life eventually tatters the sails of hopes and dreams, and leaves you drifting, resigned, on whatever current meanders by.

Therein lies the real challenge I'm facing. The walking is nothing, really. I can walk. I could go out tomorrow and walk all day if I had the time. It's the desire, the rekindling of the youthful spirit, that I'm after. I want to want to see how far I can go, how high I can climb, how fast I can run. I want to want to see how much I can read, how quick I can solve, how fast I can learn. I want to want - want to really live - again.