‘The power of experience’: Aging with quiet appreciation | Opinion
Somewhere in one of the storage boxes — or now reestablished among the thousands of pictures in a computer file, or a thumb drive or up there floating in the cloud (whatever that is) — are 1920s photographs of my father taken when he was in his late teens. They were originally printed on thick postcard stock. When I think about the man, I recall the older, final, cumulative version of dad, worn down and a little embarrassed by his diminishment. The young fellow who posed for the postcard was interested in style, in presenting a handsome self — quite the suit, quite the haircut. I’m guessing the shoes were shined. Old drugstore prints confirm how my wife and I looked when we were in our prime. Several are pinned to a bulletin board in my office. They capture us moving energetically through the decades, vibrant expressions giving off a sense of what I like to think was a certain dynamic presence. We look equal to life’s challenges: snazzy and proficient.
Long after I’m gone, my grandchildren will probably remember me as I am right now. Someone will mention gramps, and the kids will recollect the oldster who hesitated while trying to come up with the right words, paunchy, hairline receded and receded until there was no place left for it to go.
Hey, kids, that’s me hiking on the trail, playing the guitar, appearing in a play.
I hope the kids and the grandkids understands that my past has echoes reverberating inside me at this very moment. I was about to say that I’m weighed down by everything it took to get me to now, but “weighed down” implies I’m dragging something — a satchel of details and feelings — and that these are a burden. What I’m actually experiencing is that my physical being has absorbed and internalized, and it now coexists with my accumulated self.
I’m not burdened, I’m supported by a twin mind/body sensation. It’s a resource. Every move I make, word I speak, decision and reaction reflects this synergy. No matter how we of the assembled decades presents externally, what we really bring to each day is the power of experience. We do this until we lose touch with the wealth of our unique pasts: what we’ve been through and what we think we’ve been through — two distinct records. Our feelings, thoughts, opinions, habits, flashes of insight and recollections that evoke automatic frowns or smiles. As soon as I remember certain people, pets, places, books and events, my mood shifts. It lightens, and I’m happier. Maybe you cannot spot the joy on my weathered face. The physical evidence of my improved state of mind might be subtle, but internally I am in touch with the ageless part of me that has managed to ignore the territory my life has ceded to longevity. My endorphins are surging. Sure, time tarnishes memory, what we recall, how much it gets embellished or devalued. Still, I like visiting friends who’ve gone to the great elsewhere, to hook up the past with the present and see what I can concoct. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk. If there are a lot of kids on the playground, or dogs out exploring, seeing them will cause a twinkle to appear in my eyes based on all the kids, and all the dogs — now and always — who have added endless smiles to my life. Charles E. Kraus lives and writes in California.
This story was originally published February 4, 2026 at 5:00 AM with the headline "‘The power of experience’: Aging with quiet appreciation | Opinion."