Disinvited — composed on learning a Friend was “disinvited” to the Philadelphia YAF Weekend Retreat
There was a recent FB notice here in Carolina for a YAF gathering (only for dinner-plus, not a weekend),
And it specified the age range as “18-40-ish.”
Couldn’t help it: I snickered.
To me the notice was on the verge of saying,
YAF = (self-defined=What Ever).
Which is okay with me,
because everybody starts out “young,”
and everybody who stays alive eventually
becomes “not young,”
or maybe “young emeritus.”
Really they turn out that way.
And doing so isn’t
a moral defeat or character defect
or spiritual sellout.
Besides, once one faces up to being
“not young,” one can still revisit “youth”–
in an occasional mood,
or a special encounter or a spell of deja vu,
through certain good art, and often vicariously.
Yet there is other business to tend to also.
And in any case, the big discovery is,
that life is not over for the “not young.”
Life is not over until it’s over.
Thinking otherwise is not really being “young.”
It’s more like being pre-mature.
I think that came to me in the nick of time.
A bit before I hit 40-ish.
Or did 40-ish hit me?