Curiosity: A Better Choice Than Fear

By Charles LaFond – ISR Senior Development Director

One day, I became curious.

I was never curious about aging when I was young. It was happening to others around me – to others, as I sped along, accumulating. 

My graceful, elegant grandmother went from gliding upright to walking with a crick in her back and then to a cane. One day, my brother-in-law began to carry her into the house for family events, with biceps as big as my thighs. Then she was bedridden, confused, and then one day, gone. And by “gone” I mean dead. She was a magnificent lady, having survived the London Blitz, spousal abandonment, and then, at the end, crippling arthritis. Watching aging frightened me, be it a peach or a person.

But I was never curious about aging.  And that is the problem with aging. Or perhaps, just maybe, that is a beautiful solution. I have since exchanged fear for curiosity. They don’t live side-by-side.

So far, now in my sixties – aging’s vestibule – I quite like aging and am more curious about life as I see less of it ahead of me.  I mean, sure, some things are disappointing. I forget proper names unless I work hard to associate something with the name (I think to myself “Cherrie de la Framboise…she is round-red-faced like a cherry or raspberry…”).  I sometimes lack what my great nephew “Chip” possesses in computer skills (name-irony notwithstanding). I piddle on the way to the bathroom. And diabetes seems to have moved from DEFCON THREE to DEFCON TWO.

But, on the other hand, I like the way my brain connects things better than when I was young.  I like reading body language – listening more – and the wisdom that comes when experience joins intelligence.  I like the way I give myself permission to rest, to sleep longer, and to awaken slowly, with coffee.

Every morning, between 4:00 am and 5:00 am, I watch YouTube videos as I very, very slowly wake up.  The videos answer my questions. I get more and more curious about this one magical, challenging life, rather than steeping in its fears—most days.

The great art of life is not minding what happens to me or around me. My dog taught me that.

One day, I’ll need a cane.  It will be beautiful, with a silver top, an embedded amethyst, and an ebony stick.  Or, if that is too pricy on a fixed income, a steel top, oak stick, and hiding a long copper flask – probably made for me by that same Marine brother-in-law or my great-nephew. One day.