Seems the older we get, the more we fuck up. We stop doing the stuff that got us here.
For one thing, we stop asking questions because we fear people will think we’re stupid or that we will come off as uncool. But the result is that we grow dumber because by not asking questions, we’ve atrophied as learners.
Same goes with reading. Remember when you were a kid and you used to read at the table after dinner each night? OK, so maybe you didn’t do that. My son Jack, a well-read boy of 6, entertains us with a book a night aloud.
Once a year, we go off to a remote cabin in a state park, freed from the bonds of television and video games. All of us – husband, wife, four small spawn – amuse ourselves with murmuring radio and reading aloud. We’ve done a couple of Harry Potter books that way and those sorts of memories will never fade.
But in your everyday life – do you ever read aloud? Are you worried about that “uncool” stuff? You’ve got to get over that. The best part about aging is no longer giving a shit about trying to be cool.
I used to keep English Romantic Poets by Marius Bewley (Modern Library, out of print) in my bedside table. I’d occasionally serenade a guest with one of Wordsworth’s Lucy poems or even Leigh Hunt’s “Jenny Kissed Me” (I’m such a sentimental swine).
This article appears in Jan 14-20, 2009.