I've been writing down a series of names on a mental list of people that got old in a great way. And by this I do not mean the "age gracefully" thing of popular fashion magazines or the "dress appropriately" doctrine form the hairdresser salon down the street. I mean people that when you compare them across 2 or 3 decades look as beautiful in both times.
Why? good question. It's not that they didn't get wrinkles, grey hair, that their bodies didn't chnage. They did, and you can notice. But somehow, these people look great. I guess because they, in a deeper level, look themselves. Time or convetion has not tied them down and they have not wither away. They are vibrant and look passionate as always. I think that may be the thing: they look the same in a deeper sense.
So, here are a couple of people that model the way in which I would like to age. Chapter 1 - The Feminists
Many have said that there is nothing like a good snowy winter. Those temperate climates, like that of my own Mediterranean origins, are just “boring” or “not real winter”. Happy faces, “Christmas is almost here”. Ah… how good and cozy is it to be home, by the fire, in our warm house. And then to go skiing, snowboarding and to play in the snow. Who wouldn’t like snow? It’s winter: rejoice!
And this is when I conclude we are living in the end of civilization. For me, all this enthusiasm, this unconditional love of the cold days is a symptom, one more symptom, of the decadence of our society. We have become so disconnected from the world outside our cheaply-over-heated pods that we do not remember what winter is all about. I’ll tell what it is all about, what it is been all about. Winter is about struggle, fight to stay alive. Winter, the winter with snowy and negative temperatures, is the time when food is scarce, animals dig in for roots and grass under the white. Winter is about eating all you saved up, is about making it through. Winter is about stillness, death. Winter is small days, fighting for light, for breath, and long nights of quietness, of waiting. Waiting to move and live again. Wait for colour to return.
And, so what? you say. Has our society not given us great progress, art, leisure, why should we not take advantage, reap the fruit of our labour and be happy with harsh winters, insulated in our synthetic suits, warmed by cheap gas in our elaborate houses?
And this is when we should remember that not everyone has a house. That the same wonderful magical society that gave us the skiis, and the lamp and the electricity and the heath, gave some of us nothing. Gave some of us struggle for life on the streets of our cement forest. A struggle harsher than of any other medieval farmer. Because it is a lonely struggle, a fight to combat what others love.
Next time you are happy they say it will be cold. Think of them. All of them that cannot afford the lamp, the heath, the house, the insulation from the harshness of nature. Don’t dismiss it, don’t act childish. Think of what winter is all about.
And find beauty in it. There is always beauty, even in winter.
