As a recent retiree, I’ve reached that time of life where I am re-thinking some things.  Some things no longer make sense at this stage of my life.  My doctor said that at my age I should not incorporate jogging/running into my exercise routine (like I have an exercise routine to begin with).

Some things, like wearing a Speedo, which is a bad idea at any age, become abhorrent to even contemplate after a certain age.  And this is true even for people who are fit and trim, let alone Shmoo-shaped people like me.

Growing older makes some things harder to do, like reading small print or rising from a chair without grunting.  But it makes some things a little easier.  It’s easier to pay less attention to what other people think of you as you get older.  This is partly due to maturity, and partly it is due to the accumulated evidence over a lifetime of how little people were thinking about you in the first place.

When I was an undergrad, a professor who I particularly admired told me that he had defended me against a charge of misogyny.  Apparently, a female classmate complained to him that I had treated her dismissively in class because she was a woman.  Dr. Tyson assured her I was no misogynist.  He explained that I was a misanthropist; women and men were equally subject to my scorn.

I was happy to be known as one who did not suffer fools gladly, not because I wanted to be known as a haughty jerk or as a misanthropist, but because I didn’t want to be thought of as a fool myself.

Honestly, I didn’t care so much if people thought I was smart, but I really was terrified of being thought of as dumb or naïve.  As I’ve gotten older, I have come to a new perspective on this.  For one thing, I have come to accept that I do dumb things and make naïve judgments on a regular basis, so I’m not fooling anybody.

More than that, I have come to value other things.  I’ve finally begun asking myself what it is that makes me enjoy other people.  (That is the few I actually enjoy; I am still a misanthropic work in progress.)  I’ve come to realize that the people I enjoy the most are not universally smart or sophisticated, but they are universally kind. 

The ones who stand out the most are the ones who light up when we meet, as though they were genuinely happy to see me.  I find it impossible to be unhappy in their presence. 

Before I retired, I made a last round of calls on elderly parishioners, including those whose memories and cognitive skills were in decline.  One of the people who I saw on my last week as a pastor was Joan, who just beamed every time she saw me.  I know she didn’t save her smiling welcome for the likes of me, either.  She treated everyone who came into her orbit like they were the source of her greatest joy.  I am sure her joy was real.

Every time I left her, including the last time, I went away telling myself, “Be like her.  Gladly suffer fools and geniuses and everyone in between.”

Prayer: I’m grouchy and impossible to please; I test your patience.  And yet, you say you’re tickled to meet me here.  Thank you for suffering fools like me gladly.  Let me be more like Joan, and you.