I had a birthday recently. It was a time for various reflections, the most obvious of which is that I can now mark being one year closer to death.

A gravestone found in Lancashire by Geraldine Monk and tweeted by @ianduhig.

A little bit of science fiction provided a deeper reflection. I am now sufficiently old that when I was half the age I am now, I was already an adult, possessed of adult ambitions and at least something of an adult understanding of the world. What I reflected on was that if that younger man, half the age I am now, could somehow have been brought forward in time to meet the person I am today and learn about my life, he would have been not just disappointed, but heartbroken to see what I have become and how I live now.

Image reblogged from the tumblr I Am A Mystery.

If other middle-aged people were being honest with themselves — truly, searchingly honest — I’m quite sure that most of them, too, would have to admit that their younger selves would be heartbroken by their older selves.

Happily for those who want a future for the human species, very few people are capable of being honest with themselves.