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We Sail toward the Setting Sun
The Man Who Refused to Pass Away a Novel (20)
As I approached the venerable age of 80, the notion of celebrating my octogenarian milestone had scarcely crossed my mind in the preceding months. Frankly, I harbored little desire to confront the stark numerical representation of my advanced age. Nonetheless, I was acutely aware that my family had something in store, for our kin had long held a tradition of marking significant birthdays with due ceremony.
Throughout my life, I have maintained a steadfast belief in the significance of commemorating such pivotal junctures. These celebrations served not only as temporal markers but also as a testament to our enduring togetherness. Witnessing the jubilance of our offspring and, especially, our grandchildren during their birthdays has always brought me immeasurable joy.
I mused that my inclination toward such festivities might be attributed to my recognition of the myriad challenges and joys that life offers. There exists an inherent pleasure in observing the unadulterated delight of children and young adults as they revel in the simplest of birthday pleasures, from cake adorned with candles to confetti and numbered balloons — all meticulously prepared by proud parents to honor their offspring’s arrival into the world.
Yet, the celebration of one’s 80th birthday bears an altogether unconventional character. I understood some individuals, as they neared this milestone, harbored trepidation. They felt as if they stood upon the precipice of the vast, the fearsome, and the unknown, a prospect hardly comforting to contemplate. I surmised that this sentiment and experience were shared by many, as it was not unnatural to ponder the attainment of a ripe age and the inevitable culmination of life.
In the time leading up to my 80th year, Elsa and I engaged in sporadic discussions on the matter.
“It all seems so devoid of meaning,” I would remark, “First, one is born, then traverses the realms of childhood and youth, only to culminate as an adult.”
“Yes,” Elsa would reflect, “I’ve often contemplated this.”
“One embarks on an extensive journey through life, learning numerous lessons along the way.”
“Yes, we grapple with conflicts, bask in the warmth of love…”
“Yes, and we experience longing and sorrow — emotions that embroider the rich tapestry of human existence.”
Elsa would gaze at me with a solemn countenance, yet beneath the gravity, I would discern a glimmer of something brighter. A hint of a smile, a spark of trust — such nuances often eluded my grasp.
“We experience longing and sorrow,” she would affirm, “alongside anxiety. We remain ignorant of what the future holds.”
“Certainly, there is so much more to contemplate. A vast spectrum of emotions and experiences. The elation accompanying accomplishments, the ecstasy of achieving one’s aspirations — these are the things we can cherish.”
My gaze would linger upon her, and hers upon me. It was evident that both of us grappled with an assortment of thoughts. I ruminated on the notion that, as the years pass, we accumulate wisdom, insight, and comprehension. Our minds grow sharper, our understanding deepens, our insights become more profound, and our knowledge expands — an inheritance we might bestow upon those who come after us.
Yet, instead of us, as septuagenarians or octogenarians, gazing toward the horizon with the anticipation of many years filled with sagacity, understanding, and tranquility, we must confront our own mortality and endeavor to make peace with the inevitable arrival of death. As I comprehended Albert Camus, this unsettling prospect is what fuels the spirit of rebellion he so eloquently elucidated in “The Rebel.”
The enigma persisted: everyone acknowledges the existence of death, yet few are willing to engage in discourse regarding it. It is conceivable that some even shun the thought of it. I am aware, however, that there are those who do contemplate its inevitability.
“Yes,” Elsa would concede, “it is the difficulty of comprehending it that plagues us.”
“Yes, what meaning can we ascribe to this inevitability? It appears so complex.”
“Nevertheless, there exists an inherent simplicity within.”
“In what way?”
“We might perceive it as the act of imbuing life with meaning. In the creation of meaning, life attains significance that transcends even death. We do not exist in vain, and our demise is not a futile event.”
“Indeed,” I responded. Elsa nodded pensively. “Yes,” she concurred, “we may view it in this manner, but it does not alleviate the pain.”
“That much is certain,” I acknowledged.
“It pains me to contemplate that, in a few short years, I shall depart from this world. I shall vanish from the lives of all who know me, from all who have known me.”
“Yes, however, there may exist a logic to this — a shared condition experienced by all.”
“You may be right.”
“Time passes at the same rate for all, neither swifter nor slower, but rather, it is our perception of it that diverges.”
“Yes,” Elsa reflected, “and there are myriad distinctions that set one individual apart from another.”
“Indeed, humanity comprises a diverse tapestry of thoughts and emotions. Some surrender, succumbing to despair.”
“Yes, and it is disheartening to witness.”
“We shall not surrender, Elsa!”
“Absolutely not!”
“Yet, have you pondered why we resist surrender?”
“No, it is a question each must unravel in their own time.”
“Individuals traverse the terrain of aging in multifarious ways.”
“Yes, some wage an unyielding battle, employing all their faculties.”
“I have observed as much. Others sail tranquilly, propelled by a gentle tailwind, toward the distant horizon.”
“Or they embark upon their journey astride a majestic steed, disappearing into the embrace of the setting sun.”
“Yes — Elsa, do you happen to have a particular Western film in mind?”
She smiled but remained silent.
“Still others,” I continued, “remain in perpetual motion, ceaselessly journeying toward new horizons.”
“Yes, forever en route to destinations yet unknown.”
“Exactly. Always advancing toward endeavors and aspirations they aspire to fulfill.”
“And you — where do you envision yourself within this vast landscape?”
“Well, I cannot say for certain, perhaps somewhere between here and there.”
“Ah, you prefer not to be confined within a categorical box — is that your stance? Undoubtedly a characteristic of your disposition.”
“Yes, perhaps it is. Especially as I find myself not distinctly aligned with one aspect or the other.”