I wish to hold on to youth, but everything on Earth is aging, from the forests, to the rocks, to the water in the ocean, and the flowers on my window.

The universe is expanding as it ages, and the continents on Earth keep drifting apart. Perhaps there is some sort of enlargement that comes with maturity, yet I don’t know how to age, even when my body does.

The body is destined to shrink and wrinkle. But the thinking part of me, the collector of memories, the one that experiences the days, one moment at a time, struggles to sum up this biological momentum.

Maybe I’m conditioned by the society that glorifies youth. Perhaps I’m scared by the idea of not visiting the extraordinary within my ordinary reality, devastated by missing out on life as it slides through my body.

How to age when the list of desires to be and to have by (insert the age limit) seems far from fulfilled? I turned to nature and let go of this obsession, trusting in her process and seeking her lessons. 

How do you age?
I ask the forest,
the rocks,
the ocean,
and
the flowers.

What the forest taught me about aging:

When the sunlight is sparsely scattered through the layers of the canopy, the mature trees, saplings, and the shade-tolerant shrubs all find their way to coexist as the forest grows older. After years of competition in the young forest, where species raced to secure a place in the highest canopy, the lessons of collaboration reveal its wonder to them.

.

I hope to age like the forest, to learn lessons of collaboration and let go of competition.

What the rocks taught me about aging:

With raindrops and the gentle touch of the wind and waves, the skin of rocks transforms by the process of weathering. The plants and animals, too, shape these formations by exerting pressure from the roots and burrowing. Rocks age by becoming a part of the world. As they let their skin mature, they reveal a new identity, a new self.

I hope when wrinkles begin to show on my skin, I take them as a sign of having lived in the world and as a formation of experiences.

What the oceans taught me about aging:

The water on the surface of the ocean absorbs oxygen from the environment. It’s good at receiving. But as it sinks, it matures, and the living organisms in the ocean harness the oxygen from this water for their own vitality. The young water needs to be tended by the atmosphere, while the old water tends to others.

I hope as I grow older, I become generous enough to offer, to tend, and to be a giver.

What the flowers taught me about aging:

From bud to bloom, flowers eventually wither. They were born to birth more life. Once they have done their part, they begin to lose one petal at a time. Shedding what once was appealing becomes necessary so the new seed can breathe and grow.

I hope when my body changes, I accept the phases as a promise of a new beginning.

As our body ages, our senses become weaker. The capacity to see, smell, and hear decreases, yet there is an unfathomable calm.

Perhaps this is what equilibrium is, after all: to compromise our attachment to the physical self so the experiential self can expand and unveil itself.

Words by Priyanka Singh Parihar,

Founder and Editor-in-Chief