Anthony Week #14: My Mr. Miyagi
My parents had me when they were relatively old. Without going into specifics, most of my cousins with parents the same age are now approaching their 30s. This has been incredibly disheartening for me— never had relatives my age to hang out with, and I was always stuck at the adult dinner table, where I had to dodge political debates like stray bullets. All that to say, I’ve spent my fair share of time with the elderly, and yet, one of the most memorable encounters I’ve had was with an elderly man at the gym. We first spoke when I helped him with his phone, and from then on, we’d chat whenever we ran into each other. Over time, he started sharing stories about his life—how he had been a ship captain, how he had been to all corners of the world and back living through things I could only dream of.
One day, I asked him if there was anything left he wanted to do, expecting some kind of bucket list dream with only the last remaining boxes to be ticked. But to my surprise, he simply said no. He was nearly five times my age, after all. He had done it all.
That idea stuck with me. The thought that reaching a point where there was nothing left to chase, no unfulfilled desires, was impossible for my seventeen year old brain to grasp. At this age, life feels like an infinite corridor of open doors, each leading to unknown experiences. But for him, those doors had already been walked through, shut behind him.
I often wonder about the memories that I will never be able to recall or forget, the ones that were never made in the first place. I think about all the parts of life I’ll never experience, the names and stories of strangers who pass by unnoticed.
My parents had me when they were relatively old. Without going into specifics, most of my cousins with parents the same age are now approaching their 30s. This has been incredibly disheartening for me— never had relatives my age to hang out with, and I was always stuck at the adult dinner table, where I had to dodge political debates like stray bullets. All that to say, I’ve spent my fair share of time with the elderly, and yet, one of the most memorable encounters I’ve had was with an elderly man at the gym. We first spoke when I helped him with his phone, and from then on, we’d chat whenever we ran into each other. Over time, he started sharing stories about his life—how he had been a ship captain, how he had been to all corners of the world and back living through things I could only dream of.
One day, I asked him if there was anything left he wanted to do, expecting some kind of bucket list dream with only the last remaining boxes to be ticked. But to my surprise, he simply said no. He was nearly five times my age, after all. He had done it all.
That idea stuck with me. The thought that reaching a point where there was nothing left to chase, no unfulfilled desires, was impossible for my seventeen year old brain to grasp. At this age, life feels like an infinite corridor of open doors, each leading to unknown experiences. But for him, those doors had already been walked through, shut behind him.
I often wonder about the memories that I will never be able to recall or forget, the ones that were never made in the first place. I think about all the parts of life I’ll never experience, the names and stories of strangers who pass by unnoticed.
Hey, Anthony! I really enjoyed your blog this week and I appreciated the deeply personal and introspective nature of your writing. Through your writing, I was able to learn a lot about your background and important events in your life. It’s super cool that you got to meet your own Mr. Miyagi and that he shared his own perspective on life.
ReplyDeleteI thought it was also quite surprising that he didn’t have a “bucket list” or any accomplishments to check off, but as you said, at such an old age, I suppose he truly has done it all. It’s definitely difficult to comprehend that considering we currently have practically our whole lives ahead of us. This speaks a lot to the power of memory to shape a life so fulfilling that one could die happily with no regrets or wishes.
Overall, I thought your blog was super interesting and deep, and I look forward to reading more from you next week!
Hi Anthony! Your story was quote heartwarming and honestly made me smile as I perused through this blog. Even though you may meet this sweet man for a short time at the gym, it seems like you have built a special connection with him which is inspiring. I feel that some of the best memories are with older people as they share their childhood with me, and it often makes me recognize how different my childhood is, compared to their own upbringing. I find it admirable that this man stated that he never had a bucket list of places he wanted to travel to or explore any possibility of reconnecting with old friends. Honestly, I aspire to be like that. I hope that I reflect on my life when I am older and not regret anything but instead have experienced everything I have wanted to. I want to achieve any dream or goal I have set for myself, so I could be like this elderly man.
ReplyDeleteHi Anthony! It must have been so surreal to meet someone on the opposite side of life as you. As a teen, we’re bombarded with reminders of the future. Everything we do is for the future, like getting good grades to go to a good college, or picking a career. However, the man you met has no concern about the future, he has nothing he wants to do anymore. When I read that he was a ship captain, I realized how rich his life must have been. Sailing all over the world and making memories sounds like a life I’d love to lead.
ReplyDeleteOnce, when I was picking up noodles, there was an elderly man waiting in line with me. The servers were taking really long that day, so he began talking to me. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable, but I soon realized that he wasn’t dangerous, and I relaxed, talking to him more openly. I discovered that he had a wife who passed away a few years ago, and that all of his kids were adults. It almost felt unreal, listening to someone who had lived so much more than me, who had gone through every emotion possible.