I want to grow old, and I can’t stop dreaming about the old man I want to become. I want to feel the heaviness of time, and I hate how we’re blinded to the gifts of ageing with grace.

I know that getting old is a weird life goal, but I feel a sincere smile across my heart when I pause and reflect on the kind of reading and teaching that I’ll get to enjoy in my closing chapters.

To be honest, I don’t know if my relationship to my older self is neurotic or numinous - maybe it’s a mixture between both polarities - but I can’t escape the deep and enduring feeling that I’ll reach my peak potential somewhere around the year 2084.

Don’t believe me?

The literary and psychological professions are anchored towards late-life mastery. Great teachers become greater in their old age, granted they nurture their physical, mental and spiritual health.

Let me give you some real-world examples.

Earlier this week, I was reading a biography of Roberto Assagioli, the famous transpersonal psychologist and founder of psychosynthesis, and I was unsurprised to learn that he entered into his most influential teaching years during his late-60’s and early-70’s.

Accumulated experience is the gift of late-life teaching, and we see the same pattern of mastery in modern trauma teachers such as Gabor Mate, Peter Levine and Bessel Van Der Kolk who are each teaching from the peak of their influence in their early 80s.

Not all professions age well, but the literary and cognitive professions are gilded in the glow of the sunset years, and I can’t escape the feeling that my major contribution will happen in the closing decades of the 21st century.

This isn’t a new feeling…

I’ve felt connected to my old age for a long time, even during my teenage years when I started to sense that I’ll feel at my absolute best when I’m an old man - life seems to get better every year, and I look forwards to being the kind of grandfather who writes poetry about the pines from the comfort of his front porch.

Despite what we’ve been told, it appears that the winds of time are not so harsh, and our candles are not so brief.

By God’s grace, and the support of our intentional holistic lifestyles, combined with ongoing advancements in modern medicine, we are the first people with the sincere possibility of being physically and mentally radiant in our hundredth year and beyond.

There are millions of 1980’s and 1990’s babies who have the unique historical potential of living in three different centuries.

Think of the stories we’ll share from our unique historical vantage as wisdom keepers from the pre-internet era. Imagine the novelty of talking about our smartphone-free childhood to a classroom of ai-enhanced, robo-toddlers.

To have been born in the 20th century, and yet maintain the mental clarity to write beautifully for a 22nd century audience who are five generations in waiting.

I find that idea so exceptionally meaningful.

As way of sudden conclusion, I know that some people will have read these words with a sense of distaste or suspicion about my possible grandiosity issues or death anxieties, but the truth is that I do consider the 2080’s to be one of my soulful priorities.

I’m fascinated by the archetype of the grandfather, the sage who speaks across generations, and surely you can see that we’re living at this incredible moment in history?

Each season of life has its fruits and its thorns, and I want you to defend the embers of youthful curiosity against the winds of time throughout all stages of your journey.

There is no need for self-extinguishment.

There is time for youthful adventure, but I refuse to be one of those miserable old men who misses the long-tail of individuation because they didn’t anticipate the gifts of graceful ageing.

The soul doesn’t die at 50 or 60 or 70.

I feel the warmth of my sunset years.

Jordan