Yesterday's entry was about dying and the difficulty that we have accepting the reality of death - as in, my death, nothing abstract. Today, it feels like I'm getting to my deeper version of the same fear. Now it's about falling apart: watching the process of getting older and more weathered and a bit broken down and noticing what feelings that brings up.
Like here, on First Street in Cambridge, right across the street from the cool new mall and the huge, almost-new, brick, Lotus buildings (oops, I guess that's IBM buildings for the past 6 years or so). There's the weather-beaten old warehouse that I've shot and written about (like for instance, here). If you look at the plywood siding where it meets the sidewalk, you can see the deterioration. What I see is some plywood, probably interior grade, that's coming unglued from the years of snow and rain and city abuse - it's taken its toll. Why am I surprised?
Well, truly I'm not, as I walk by. I just take it in without any internal dialogue: it's just the way it is. Yet that same transition - from fit to falling apart - is big news (and not good news) when it's my body. So, I can see that this self-awareness I'm bringing to my own aging is not necessarily helpful. Especially as I look more deeply: these unglued pieces of plywood in the images hold great beauty - there's colors set free by the loosening glue and odd shapes and forms as the debris collects. So why decide it's just old and not worth attention.
Why indeed - any more than why I should stop celebrating the very same process that brought me to my full sixty years. Falling apart may be just what I need to continue to appreciate every moment. Funny that...