Too old for pretending, too young to stop

Too old for pretending, too young to stop

Turns out, Friedrich Nietzsche never made it to 60. He died at 55 - before the knees began to creak or the mirror started showing a stranger’s face. Still, he inspires me to grow stronger as I age - not in spite of it, but because of it.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about that. I’m 58. Not old, not young - just in that place where time feels both full and fragile. And when I read Nietzsche’s words - amor fati - they land differently now. Love your fate. Not just accept it. Love it. The good, the ugly, the strange path that got you here. Even the lines on your face. Even the doubts. Even the years that felt wasted.

Nietzsche didn’t offer comfort. He offered challenge. His idea was this: if we want to stay alive - not just breathing, but alive - we have to keep becoming. Reinventing. Not by chasing youth, but by meeting ourselves again and again. Each time, a little deeper.

Honestly, I find that both overwhelming and relieving. There’s no final version of me I have to stick to. I’m allowed to change. To surprise myself. To grow weirder, wiser, quieter - or louder - if that’s what feels right.

He warns us not to become a shadow of our former selves. Not to stay stuck in past roles, past dreams, past goals, past hairstyles. That hits home for me. When I was recovering from stress, my psychologist told me it wasn’t really stress - it was an existential crisis. She said I was clinging to an outdated version of myself: the goals, the strategies, the self-image that once served me well. But not anymore. I had to let them go. And start learning to live with the person I am now. Find new dreams. New ways to cope. Because life wants movement. And we - at any age - are meant to keep moving.

So here I am.
Still becoming.
Still wondering who I might become next.
A bit slower, maybe.
But stronger, for sure.
And just maybe… even more myself.

This article is part of my series on Aging with wisdom.

Read also:

Turns out, I don’t miss being 35

Cicero would’ve been a great dinner guest

Confucius didn’t rush. Maybe I shouldn’t either

Next up: Michel de Montaigne