On the crucial importance of "still" and its value (series: notes to myself)

It is never clear when you change age. Not the birthday, silly. But the big transition from one block to the next. The stepping stones, that's what I'm talking about: child, teenager, young grown-up, adult, middle-aged, old... that sort of huge steps. All fuzzy and quite relative. Like crossing a border between two countries but realising it only hundreds of miles later, when the surroundings have finally, visibly changed.

Not easy. And yet, there is a little word that I notice can help. Still. Not the adjective, as in "the night was still", but the adverb, as in "he still takes stairs two at a time" like Giovanni Drogo.

How appropriate. An adverb that modifies a verb. A second-order reflection on a first-order event, or action, or behaviour. And it tells you what has happened to that modified referent, as you crossed the border. You are (if you ever were) still this or that. You are still in love or still passionate about your job. You still like to tell some jokes, you still think some sci-movies are great.

From being to still being, from doing to still doing, this is the real signal of a transition from one block to the next. It is acknowledged by yourself sometimes, maybe while running, with surprise. But more often and reliably by those who speak about you. And the still, although signalling continuity, really marks a threshold. Because, when you were young, nobody said that you were still dancing. 

Now that you are middle-aged, you "still" life. And you do so asymmetrically. Maybe in your passions (you are still a child), but not in your religious belief (God is not to be found). Or perhaps in your tastes (you still like pizza more than any other food) but not in your interests (who cares about little plastic soldiers).

There will be an age of nolongers, if you are lucky. One day, you will realise that you nolonger this or that in your life: walk without support, read without effort, hear without help. But not now. Now hold on to the many stills and notyets. 

Between stilling life and notyetting it, the difficulty is appreciating what is still doable and enjoyable, and what is not yet gone and unreachable.

Stilling is part of the progressive fulfilment of hope, which is the definition of happiness. But the real blessing is to still together, in a hammock.