Aging into Acceptance

In chapter six of Leo Tolstoy’s 1886 novella The Death of Ivan Ilych, Ivan recalls a classic syllogism learned during his school days: "Caius is a man, men are mortal, therefore Caius is mortal." Yet, he is entirely unable to apply this logic to himself. The disconnect between the abstract idea of death and his own personal death is too great to bridge. Instead, Ivan’s thoughts shift back to himself as little Vanya, to the smell of his striped leather ball and the rustle of his mother’s silk dress, and to the thought: "And it cannot be that I should die. It would be too terrible."

Now, at seventy-one, I find myself caught in that same disconnect between abstract reasoning and personal knowing. Perhaps, when contemplating our own mortality, we all are.

"Before I got dressed, I glanced down at my naked, sagging body and thought: So what?"

I am no stranger to death. Few of us in our seventies are. We have watched parents, siblings, and loved ones pass. We have read memoirs and novels, listened to podcasts, and watched movies about death. We have done our share of weeping over real and fictional losses. 

Yet, the disconnect continues—even when our own aging faces greet us in the mirror, demanding that we confront loose flesh, age spots, and wrinkles. In response, we might find ourselves turning to gym memberships, cosmetic procedures, or supplements to manage the visible effects of aging.