I ran across this piece written by a person about the same age as I, and I can relate to so much of what she says. Hard to explain but she got as close as I've seen.
"I am nearly seventy-one years old. I always thought I should love
to grow old, and I find it even more delightful than I thought. It is delicious to be done with things, and to
feel no need any longer to concern ourselves much about earthly affairs.
I cannot describe the sort of
done-with-the-world feelings I have. It is not that I feel as if I was going to
die at all, but simply that the world seems to me nothing but a passageway to
the real life beyond, and passage ways are very important places.
My
wants seem to be gradually narrowing down, my personal wants, I mean, and I often think I could be quite
content in the Poor-house!
I do not know whether this is piety or old
age, or a little of each mixed together, but honestly the world and our life in
it does seem of too little account to be worth making the least fuss over, when
one has such a magnificent prospect close at hand ahead of one; and I am
tremendously content to let one activity after another go, and to await quietly
and happily the opening of the door at the end of the passageway, that will let
me in to my real abiding place. So you may think of me as happy and contented,
with unnumbered blessings, and delight to be seventy-one years old." Mrs.
Pearsall Smith.
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