True, and as old age begins to dawn with its dimming, and the acting of youth becomes a memory in turn forgotten, what I thought this experience was going to be has become much worse, but then again, much more nuanced. Everything is layered. It is richer than I ever dreamed. Of course, worse, worse, but it is a richer worse. Even the disasters feel glorious with resonant irony.
Is it harder to keep one's sense of humour, or one's sense of wonder as one enters the portals of age, I wonder? Both are essential for a balanced response to life, as Dorothy Parker knew. Her assumption of a mantle of cynicism has always seemed to me to be just that: an assumption only.
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