The Age of Virtue

I like getting older.

There's something about with age and experience comes wisdom that's exhilarating.

It makes you wish you could find a time machine and travel back to when you were younger and stupider (I mean less experienced) and try things over.

As I haven't gotten any more sane, I can handle my thoughts and feelings better than I could even ten years ago.

Ten years ago, a broken heart was irreparable. But it's true, time does heal all emotional wounds. If you let it.

I think the only thing I hate about getting older, outside of the body aches and lessening flexibility, is the heightened ability to read people.

It's like opening the same book over and over again, but the spine stays fresh and in tact—a new book, no matter how many times you've consumed it's stock pages.

Like this 'confident' barista at the coffee shop I go to regularly. He's twenty-six or so, married and about to have a baby with his young wife. 

He's cocky. Feigning kindness, but don't get him wrong. He'd slit his best friend's throat if it meant he advanced in work or social status.

(His wife's wound have to be for money. Lots and lots of money.)

Age and experience unlocks an innate ability to understand the true nature of things, actions, and words, you know.  And you find that the cockiest people are the most fragile.

You can break him with only a few choice remarks jumbled together in a way that creates a small fissure in his ego.

You can agitate that fissure, gently, over time. One day it cracks and that's that. You split him in two with arsenic-laden words dosing his Soup of Self-Importance a couple times a week.

That kind of power cannot be wielded by a child.

But, why not, really?

Wouldn't it just be easier to give that power to children? They don't have to live, they don't have to earn it. They can be gifted it so they can do with it what they please.

Oh, wait. I lost my train of thought.

Why was I writing this, again?

Was it to bitch about the boyish barista who's handsome looks and crooked, eager smile opened doors to him closed to the fat, less attractive boy who'd serve his people better?

Or was it to talk about authority, about power?

I can't quite remember, actually.

Oh, yes. 

Squash authority. No one really listens to an authority, anyhow.

Their egos have inflated beyond the point of human assistance. Unless said human is him.

I didn't intend to talk about giving unearned power to children, because we do every day. They're just too 'smart' to listen to us.

We didn't turn them into feckless nothings who have to take the hard road to learn.

They do that to themselves.

Maybe ego isn't the problem at all. Maybe it's simply being stubborn.

Egos can be broken. Stubbornness is lifelong. It never dies or weakens. 

Stubbornness is the elderly woman who lost her husband thirty years prior and can't care for herself any longer, but godammit if she'll ever agree to go to that nursing home and give up her independence.

Oh, no.

Maybe ego is just a version of self-love with a dash of stubbornness.

I'll ask the barista and get back to you.

"I like getting older. There's something about 'with age and experience comes wisdom' that's exhilarating."—Sara Eatherton-Goff, 'The Age of Virtue'
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I'm Sara. Mompreneur of 3, wife to super-awesome Brian, business coach, infopreneur and printable product creator.