Who?
The old woman
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You are beautiful."
How did she react?
She read my note.
How did I feel?
Old people are beautiful. Stories mark their face. Challenges they have overcome walk with them wherever they go. Their bodies are miracles. For decades they have been supplying them with breath, enabling countless experiences. Sunny ones, sad ones. Loss, gain, love, anger, fear, laughter. Life. Old people have seen it all. Plus they have learned to cut the crap: Knowing their time is limited they quit wasting it. They don't excuse for who they are. Optimist, stubborn, joyful, frustrated. Whatever they feel they live it. No more pretending. At the same time there is that sense of wisdom and surrender. I sense an overall acceptance in them, a calm that comes with looking back and letting go.
I believe that fear of death is the biggest rock to stand in our ways. Removing it comes through embracing it. Acceptance frees. Let's face it: We will die. Each and everyone of us. For many old people that acceptance seems to come more naturally. Maybe because death is waiting around the corner; Or maybe because throughout the years they have experienced that when it comes to fear holding on does not help. I am sure the lady I saw on the train today has been through that process many times. About 80 years old she was sitting in between busy Berliners hammering at their tablets and smartphones. Her hands rested on her lap. She looked around, moving slowly. She did not gaze at anyone directly. Her glance was vague, taking in her surrounding as a whole. Cluttered with wrinkles and age spots her face looked like a part of a rough landscape. I could have eyed it for hours. Across from her sat two teenagers who she had entered the train with. I assumed they were her grandsons. They were chatting in Romanian. All three of them wore cheap, dirty clothes. The train's destination was near a refugee camp and I figured that probably was where the family was headed. I sat next to them for twenty minutes. Absorbing the old madame's presence I enjoyed her calm vibe. Her appearance fascinated me. I started thinking about age and how beautiful it is, wondering why our society proclaims the opposite. The woman did not interact with anyone and seemed a bit lost. But I don't think it mattered to her. She was okay with being lost. It was this being okay which made her present. I kept looking for the right word. What was she? Clear? Aware? Soft? Then I found it. It was simple: Beautiful. I wanted to tell her how I felt about her. I didn't know if she spoke German. And I was still sick-ish, looking forward to lying in bed again soon. I did not feel like addressing her orally and potentially facing the whole language barrier. Instead I wrote her a note. It said, "You are beautiful. I have secretly been observing you on the train. I think you have an outstanding charisma and your presence is very soothing. All the best to you." Before I got off the train I handed her the note. She looked at me, a question mark on her face. I said, "For you.", smiled, and got up. Finally I turned around again and looked at her. She did speak German after all: Reading the first line over and over again her lips were forming the words, "You... are... beautiful. You... are... beautiful. You... are..." Suddenly I felt very light. Though she could not see it I waved at her. Then I left the train.
The old woman
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You are beautiful."
How did she react?
She read my note.
How did I feel?
Old people are beautiful. Stories mark their face. Challenges they have overcome walk with them wherever they go. Their bodies are miracles. For decades they have been supplying them with breath, enabling countless experiences. Sunny ones, sad ones. Loss, gain, love, anger, fear, laughter. Life. Old people have seen it all. Plus they have learned to cut the crap: Knowing their time is limited they quit wasting it. They don't excuse for who they are. Optimist, stubborn, joyful, frustrated. Whatever they feel they live it. No more pretending. At the same time there is that sense of wisdom and surrender. I sense an overall acceptance in them, a calm that comes with looking back and letting go.
I believe that fear of death is the biggest rock to stand in our ways. Removing it comes through embracing it. Acceptance frees. Let's face it: We will die. Each and everyone of us. For many old people that acceptance seems to come more naturally. Maybe because death is waiting around the corner; Or maybe because throughout the years they have experienced that when it comes to fear holding on does not help. I am sure the lady I saw on the train today has been through that process many times. About 80 years old she was sitting in between busy Berliners hammering at their tablets and smartphones. Her hands rested on her lap. She looked around, moving slowly. She did not gaze at anyone directly. Her glance was vague, taking in her surrounding as a whole. Cluttered with wrinkles and age spots her face looked like a part of a rough landscape. I could have eyed it for hours. Across from her sat two teenagers who she had entered the train with. I assumed they were her grandsons. They were chatting in Romanian. All three of them wore cheap, dirty clothes. The train's destination was near a refugee camp and I figured that probably was where the family was headed. I sat next to them for twenty minutes. Absorbing the old madame's presence I enjoyed her calm vibe. Her appearance fascinated me. I started thinking about age and how beautiful it is, wondering why our society proclaims the opposite. The woman did not interact with anyone and seemed a bit lost. But I don't think it mattered to her. She was okay with being lost. It was this being okay which made her present. I kept looking for the right word. What was she? Clear? Aware? Soft? Then I found it. It was simple: Beautiful. I wanted to tell her how I felt about her. I didn't know if she spoke German. And I was still sick-ish, looking forward to lying in bed again soon. I did not feel like addressing her orally and potentially facing the whole language barrier. Instead I wrote her a note. It said, "You are beautiful. I have secretly been observing you on the train. I think you have an outstanding charisma and your presence is very soothing. All the best to you." Before I got off the train I handed her the note. She looked at me, a question mark on her face. I said, "For you.", smiled, and got up. Finally I turned around again and looked at her. She did speak German after all: Reading the first line over and over again her lips were forming the words, "You... are... beautiful. You... are... beautiful. You... are..." Suddenly I felt very light. Though she could not see it I waved at her. Then I left the train.
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