What's Happening to Me?

    Retirement is generally associated with advanced age.  I am one of those who has retired at a younger age than most. [Okay, I'm not technically retired for another nine days.  I'm just thinking of myself in that sense.]  But I have noticed some disturbing changes within me associated with this unstoppable tidal wave of time.
    The most surprising and troubling change is an increased propensity to react emotionally to situations from which I was previously detached.  So far I have managed to keep just about all of these almost overwhelming, illogical reactions to myself.  I have always prided myself on my ability to control my emotions, to the point that I have been accused of heartlessness, a reputation I have not sought to repudiate.  I am that guy who could watch a movie or television show with a room full of teary-eyed blubberers without ever feeling a twinge of emotion.  I mocked those who shed tears during what I referred to as "Little Crybaby on the Prairie."
    Something has happened to me!  I now cry easily at times that would not have moved me in the least when I had a younger man's tear ducts.  "Fiddler on the Roof" is now a three-hanky event for me.  I'm not sure I ever audibly pronounced my daughter and her groom "husband and wife" as I was choking on those words.  I even feel the urge to shed a tear or two when Kathleen Kelley has to close the door for the last time at the Shop Around the Corner in "You've Got Mail."  And the flood cannot be stemmed when the aging Private Ryan stands at the grave of Captain Miller and asks his wife if he's lived a good life.  A younger me would never have reacted so emotionally!
    Some will say I am finally allowing myself to be human.  That's a little harsh and way too simplistic.  I have considered the possibility of a chemical change as my body and mind continue along the downhill road of aging.  But I tend toward the theory that I am beginning to see things from a different angle; an angle only those of us who have had certain experiences can understand fully.
    Whatever the reason, I am currently concerned with the problem of dealing with the reality.  I am now exerting a great deal of effort controlling almost uncontrollable urges to weep instead of doing something about certain situations.  I am much more comfortable when I am in control.  One considerably difficult circumstance for me concerns my daughter, son-in-law and their little girl getting ready to leave the country for a couple of years.  Intellectually I have accepted the fact that they must do this, that it is God's will for all concerned, that people have been separated from loved ones throughout human history and have thrived in spite of it, that I will be able to communicate often by phone and Skype and that I will be able to visit at least a couple of times.  But my intellect seems to be disconnected from my emotions.  I have had to repeatedly force myself to think of something else whenever someone reminds me that their departure date is quickly approaching for fear that I will become a sobbing heap of pitiful humanity at an inappropriate time.
    The apostle Paul wrote that we need to think about those things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy, and to rejoice even in dire circumstances.  What I am just beginning to understand is that I can weep while rejoicing.  I can accept my emotional responses as good things because they are outward manifestations of inward goodness; of love.  God is still changing me, and that's a good thing.  I guess I had somehow begun to believe I had already reached a point, an age, when I would not need to make any more radical changes in my way of thinking or, generally, in my faith.  It's quite a shock to realize God isn't quite through with me yet.  I haven't retired from life.
    Well, I never intended to get this personal so early in the blogosphere.  It's a good thing just about nobody is likely to read this.  Tomorrow I'll contemplate today's experience at the jazz festival.  No crying there.