(A short essay)
"To be, or not to be, that is the question." William Shakespeare penned this line in the renowned play Hamlet. It encapsulates a central philosophical dilemma about the meaning of life and death, asking whether it is nobler to suffer life's hardships or to escape them through death.
As for me, life is no longer like a box of chocolates, as Forrest Gump once smilingly said. I am well past that era. That question seems almost childish now in my autumn years. These days, it feels more like a period of reflection before the pearly gates or a plunge into depths where sins are to be reckoned with, and I have plenty of those.
Some wish they could turn back the clock to Spring and start again: to chase wealth anew, to right old wrongs, to take a different path toward their Autumn. There are those who now regret the drinking, the smoking, the poor diets, and finally give breakfast the attention it never had in their youth.
I once knew a bloke, a salesman at a hardware store in our district. He remarked, “I’m nearly fifty now and I’ve come to realize how much I neglected my studies when I was young. Had I pursued a proper degree or served an apprenticeship, I wouldn't be standing behind this counter today.” Well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles, some might say. To each their own, I suppose. I just gave him a sheepish smile and left it at that—no further comment.
We all come to terms with our Autumn years in our own ways—and believe me, there's no shortage of methods or modes. Sooner or later, we all look back—alone or with others—and pass judgment on ourselves. We reflect, we regret, we recount. Some pass on their lessons so others may avoid the same pitfalls. I find it fascinating how differently we process our Autumns—some battle it, some embrace it, and some ignore it altogether. Thus, we have words like “repent,” “hindsight,” “resent,” and “reflect” in our language.
As for me? I let nature take its course. Being actively retired and well into my seventies, I don’t dwell too much on the years gone by. I take life as it is. Perhaps it’s due to my economic situation—not that I’m wealthy, mind you. Who doesn’t want to be happy, healthy, and financially secure? But that privilege belongs only to a fortunate few. There always seems to be something missing or something we wish we had done better, but perhaps it’s best to let bygones be bygones. Even if we could turn back time—as in H.G. Wells’ fiction—life would become unnatural and chaotic. That's not for me.
These days, I simply reminisce. I recall the good and the not-so-good, wonder where those people from my past are now, and play my favourite songs over and over again—munching on “yesterday once more,” as the song goes. It’s all music to my ears.
Going back to the hardware salesman, I do sympathize with his regrets. But at some point, there’s no use crying over spilt milk. Better to start amending once the realization sets in—if you can. Otherwise, tough luck, my friend. Not a very kind thing to say, but that's life. Fate is tricky. They say it's written on our foreheads at birth, and all we can do is try to make the best of it. Not all animals are equal, as Orwell reminded us. As for the eternal question of "why," perhaps that is best addressed to God—if one believes in such things.
To err is human, and mistakes are part of the journey toward Autumn. I’ve made too many to count. So I sit back, smile, shrug it off, and carry on. Que sera, sera. I firmly believe in the saying: laughter is the best medicine. Don’t you?
After Autumn, Winter waits patiently. We all must make that final journey. Some, unfortunately, rush their Autumns and cross over early. I’ve read in the news of farmers in parts of India who, overwhelmed by debt, ended their lives. My heart aches for them. I’ve also known people personally who ended their lives so as not to be a burden to their families. Right or wrong, that was their decision, and I can only respect their will. Still, it is deeply saddening to see lives end before nature intended.
This life—this one chance—is precious. We must try to make the best of it in whatever way we can. But we should not end it prematurely. At the same time, we must appreciate the struggles of others. Think of the soldiers who died for their countries—many never even reached Autumn. I find that most commendable. Without them, we might not even have a land to call home.
Winter is inevitable. It does not call us, yet we all go. As the proverb says, all roads lead to Rome. It’s just a matter of time, mon ami.
So let us celebrate and treasure life, even in our Autumn years. Sit back, relax, reflect, tell stories, and confer wisdom to those who care to give an audience. Life is precious—you know that, don’t you?
Think about it.
Good luck, and thank you.
