My Metaphor for Aging

I was asked to introduce a national speaker at a local aging symposium today. Instead of an introduction recounting the speaker’s credentials, I opted to start with a what I call my metaphor for aging. There was more to the introduction than this, but I like this start an awful lot, so I decided to publish it here.

In Michigan’s Upper Peninsula halfway between Whitefish Point and Munising, there is a uniquely beautiful place called Sable Falls. To best view the falls, one must go down 168 steps. Once there, the 75-foot waterfall is spectacular and so worth the hike. Years ago, before a wooden fence was constructed, my children and I waded into the Au Sable River, letting the waterfall wash over us while more cautious families watched and, I think, envied our tiny bit of recklessness. I treasure that moment and thought at one time it was the best of my life.

A path runs along the river for a half mile. It’s an easy path except for tree roots, low hanging branches, and abrupt drops with no steps. The path is pretty but feels long and some people turn around, thinking they’d already seen the best the park has to offer – its spectacular falls. But those who continue reach a clearing where there are ancient and lopsided wooden steps leading down to the beach. It is here that the promise of the path is realized in the solitary magnificence that is Lake Superior. Here the river flows in a gentle rill into the lake, a dune rises off to one side, and a sea of rocks pave the beach. It is a place that is in all ways, wonderful.

That, my friends, is my metaphor for aging.