youth is wasted on the old.

I was listening to “The House of the Rising Sun”, by “The Animals” and the plaintive sentiment expressed by the words “tell your children what I have done”  sent my mind careering off down a line of thought, which is the essence of an old man’s regret over the human condition.
When we are young, we are new to life and we must learn our way.
In a sense, this is the joy of life, when we are young, and the bitterness of nostalgic old age.
Just as a toddler will break our precious possessions and conversely be injured by them, as they learn motor co-ordination, so we enter our teen years, smashing the emotions of others and of ourselves, as we struggle to learn how to relate socially.
In old age, we look back abd realise, with great pain, the hurt, which we caused others and we drown once more in the despair that others caused us.
We recognise that the pain we suffered, which drove us to the deepest depths of blackness and despair, were not personal attacks but merely the blind stumblings of another of our generation trying to learn how we should relate to one another.
We realise the angst and bitter regret, which we suffer, in remembering how we have treated others, is but a reflection of our own groping, in the dark, for our proper place in Society.
We take solace in that our “nastiness” to others was unintentional and that the hurts, which we had received, were probably just as innocent of hurtful intent.
The girl who jilted us, was simply adjusting her own sense of self worth. Those we had dismissed as slags, were possibly adjusting themselves to values that had been imposed on them.
We realise, when it’s too late, that we are all just people trying to fit in and being fucked up by our genetic imperative to find the best mate to match our own genes.
With old age the hormonal reins on our behaviour become slackened and our brains can regain control of our actions. We can remember the strength of our passions but we are no longer controlled by them. We look at the face of Helen of Troy but we no longer feel the urge to launch a thousand ships, We see a nice looking girl, slight moustache, a bit hippy, a little self-centred etc. but we see with our brains, un-confused by hormones.
I’m saying that we think that age is wasted on the young but without the hormones that fuck them up, would we bother to do things better?



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