[Esp./Eng.] La Paradoja de los setenta. || The Paradox of Seventy.
If you prefer the English version, click on the following link 👉 HERE
Sentado en el porche de mi casa, con el café ya un poco tibio y el almanaque recordándome que pronto me "monto" en los 71, me topé con un audio de Miguel Borgo que me dejó entre risas y suspiros. Hablaba de la "Paradoja de la Vida". Como alguien que ya ha dado varias vueltas al sol, no pude evitar ver mi propia sombra reflejada en cada palabra de ese relato.
Entre el Burro, el Perro y este Mono que aĂşn baila
Dice Borgo que cuando Dios creó al burro, le asignó treinta y cinco años de vida para trabajar de sol a sol y cargar lo que le pusieran encima. El burro, que resultó ser más sensato de lo que creemos, negoció: “Señor, treinta y cinco años es mucho… ¿por qué no mejor veinte?”. Y según nos cuenta Borgo, Dios se los concedió.
¡Ay, mis amigos de Holos&Lotus! Cuánta verdad hay en esos "años de burro". Yo recuerdo mis 30 y 40. Estaba en la plenitud de mi fase de carga. El "lomo" no me dolĂa para cargar con la hipoteca, el colegio de los muchachos, las bolsas del mercado y las expectativas de todo el mundo. En esa etapa, uno no camina, uno trota bajo el sol, convencido de que la alfalfa del Ă©xito está a la vuelta de la esquina. Es una realidad tangible: nos volvemos expertos en "aguantar el trote", en ser el motor que mueve el carro familiar, a veces olvidando que el burro tambiĂ©n necesita descanso.
Luego, el relato cuenta que Dios creó al perro. Le dio veinticinco años para cuidar la casa y comer lo que le dieran. El perro, con ojos de juicio, pidió quedarse solo con quince...
AquĂ es donde la cosa se pone interesante y, quizás, un poco nostálgica. Al llegar a la jubilaciĂłn, muchos entramos en la "fase del perro". Ya no cargamos tanto, pero nos volvemos los guardianes del territorio. Estamos ahĂ, sentaditos, viendo quiĂ©n entra y quiĂ©n sale, cuidando que los nietos no rompan nada y conformándonos con lo que la vida nos sirve en el plato, que a veces son solo las sobras de un tiempo que ya pasĂł. Es esa realidad donde el mundo exterior parece ir más rápido que nuestras piernas, y nos convertimos en los centinelas de los recuerdos.
Pero lo más gracioso —y donde espero que se rĂan conmigo— es la etapa del mono. Dios le dio diez años para hacer payasadas y divertir a los demás. El mono pidiĂł cinco. SegĂşn Borgo, el hombre, en su infinita ambiciĂłn, pidiĂł para sĂ todos los años que los animales rechazaron.
Y asĂ llegamos a donde estoy yo hoy. A punto de cumplir 71, me doy cuenta de que soy un "mono" profesional. Mis nietos (sobrinos-nietos) vienen a casa y yo me convierto en el bufĂłn oficial, je, je, je. Hago voces, cuento historias exageradas de mi juventud y me dejo poner ganchos en el pelo solo por verlos reĂr. He pasado de ser el "burro" que sostenĂa la economĂa, al "perro" que cuida la puerta, para terminar siendo el "mono" que entretiene a la nueva generaciĂłn... Y me agrada.
ÂżEs denigrante? ¡Para nada! Es la paradoja más hermosa que existe. Es aceptar que la vida tiene estaciones. A mis casi 71 años, entiendo que no pedĂ esos años extra para seguir trabajando como burro, sino para tener la sabidurĂa de reĂrme de mĂ mismo. La realidad tangible es que el cuerpo se cansa, el oĂdo falla un poco, pero el corazĂłn se ensancha un mundo cuando uno entiende que cada etapa tuvo su propĂłsito.
Si me ven por ahà haciendo alguna "monada"..., no se preocupen. Es solo un hombre celebrando que, después de haber sido burro y perro, finalmente ha aprendido la libertad de ser un mono feliz que vive en paz.
Creciendo como persona, busca y encuentra lo que necesitas para ser un mejor humano en la Comunidad Holos&Lotus. De seguro, hay un tema que te llamará la atención.
InfografĂa propia de la Comunidad Holos&Lotus
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, dĂa a dĂa, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
As I sit in my garden, watching the golden hues of late summer and contemplating my upcoming 71st birthday, I happened upon a rather poignant recording by Miguel Borgo. He spoke of the "Paradox of Life," an old tale that, through the lens of my seven decades, feels remarkably close to the bone.
On Donkeys, Hounds, and the Old Chap in the Mirror
The story goes that when the Creator made the donkey, He gave it thirty-five years to toil from dawn till dusk, carrying heavy burdens. The donkey, showing more wit than usually credited, bargained: "Lord, thirty-five years is a long sentence for such a graft... how about twenty?". And so it was.
In my own life, I remember those "donkey years" vividly. Throughout my thirties and forties, I was well and truly in the harness. I was the one commuting in the rain, keeping the "stiff upper lip" while balancing the mortgage, the children’s university fees, and the weight of professional expectations. We fancy ourselves masters of the universe then, but in truth, we are simply sturdy beasts of burden, carrying the family’s future on our backs without a word of complaint.
Then came the dog. He was given twenty-five years to guard the house and eat what he was given. The dog, ever the realist, asked for only fifteen.
This stage hits home as one reaches the autumn of his career. We become the "old hounds" of the household. We aren't out in the fields anymore; instead, we’re the ones keeping an eye on the front gate, making sure the hedge is trimmed, and perhaps being a bit more discerning about what’s for Sunday roast. It’s a tangible reality of ageing—we become the quiet observers, the gatekeepers of family traditions, often content with the simpler, quieter portions of life.
The final irony, however, lies with the monkey. He was given ten years to pull faces and entertain the crowd. The monkey, wisely, took only five. The man, in his youthful greed, asked for all the years the animals had discarded.
And here I am, approaching 71, and I must confess: I have become the family’s Chief Entertainer. When the grandchildren visit, the "donkey" who worked the 9-to-5 is long gone. The "guard dog" softens his bark. I find myself acting the fool, telling tall tales of the "good old days," and being the source of amusement for little ones who think Grandad is a bit "crackers." And I like it.
It’s a magnificent paradox. We spend our youth wanting to be serious and powerful, only to realize that the greatest joy of old age is the freedom to be silly. There is no offence to be taken in this reality; there is only the grace of accepting that our roles shift.
I shall raise a glass to those extra years. I may move a bit slower, and I might forget where I’ve put my spectacles, but I’ve earned the right to play the monkey. After a lifetime of carrying the weight and guarding the fort, it’s quite a treat to simply make people smile. Cheers to seventy-one years of the journey.
Growing as a person, seek and find what you need to be a better person in the Holos&Lotus Community. Surely, there's a topic that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographic Holos&Lotus
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Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, dĂa a dĂa, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
As I sit in my garden, watching the golden hues of late summer and contemplating my upcoming 71st birthday, I happened upon a rather poignant recording by Miguel Borgo. He spoke of the "Paradox of Life," an old tale that, through the lens of my seven decades, feels remarkably close to the bone.
On Donkeys, Hounds, and the Old Chap in the Mirror
The story goes that when the Creator made the donkey, He gave it thirty-five years to toil from dawn till dusk, carrying heavy burdens. The donkey, showing more wit than usually credited, bargained: "Lord, thirty-five years is a long sentence for such a graft... how about twenty?". And so it was.
In my own life, I remember those "donkey years" vividly. Throughout my thirties and forties, I was well and truly in the harness. I was the one commuting in the rain, keeping the "stiff upper lip" while balancing the mortgage, the children’s university fees, and the weight of professional expectations. We fancy ourselves masters of the universe then, but in truth, we are simply sturdy beasts of burden, carrying the family’s future on our backs without a word of complaint.
Then came the dog. He was given twenty-five years to guard the house and eat what he was given. The dog, ever the realist, asked for only fifteen.
This stage hits home as one reaches the autumn of his career. We become the "old hounds" of the household. We aren't out in the fields anymore; instead, we’re the ones keeping an eye on the front gate, making sure the hedge is trimmed, and perhaps being a bit more discerning about what’s for Sunday roast. It’s a tangible reality of ageing—we become the quiet observers, the gatekeepers of family traditions, often content with the simpler, quieter portions of life.
The final irony, however, lies with the monkey. He was given ten years to pull faces and entertain the crowd. The monkey, wisely, took only five. The man, in his youthful greed, asked for all the years the animals had discarded.
And here I am, approaching 71, and I must confess: I have become the family’s Chief Entertainer. When the grandchildren visit, the "donkey" who worked the 9-to-5 is long gone. The "guard dog" softens his bark. I find myself acting the fool, telling tall tales of the "good old days," and being the source of amusement for little ones who think Grandad is a bit "crackers." And I like it.
It’s a magnificent paradox. We spend our youth wanting to be serious and powerful, only to realize that the greatest joy of old age is the freedom to be silly. There is no offence to be taken in this reality; there is only the grace of accepting that our roles shift.
I shall raise a glass to those extra years. I may move a bit slower, and I might forget where I’ve put my spectacles, but I’ve earned the right to play the monkey. After a lifetime of carrying the weight and guarding the fort, it’s quite a treat to simply make people smile. Cheers to seventy-one years of the journey.
Growing as a person, seek and find what you need to be a better person in the Holos&Lotus Community. Surely, there's a topic that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographic Holos&Lotus
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Los años son son un número, uno que no nos define, que no nos marca, porque por más que esten ahà en un almanaque, el alma se siente más joven, esos años vividos, gozados, alegres o tristes son sólo el reflejo de que aprendimos a caer, levantarnos, disfrutar del sol y el viento.
Setenta no son nada cuando faltan muchos más años delante de tu mirada, para compartir, enseñar, guiar y disfrutar.
Aca una amiga, una hermana, una hija, y a veces ¿por qué no una madre? Ya que para dar cariño no hace falta tener la misma sangre.
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Créeme que me he visto reflejado en todas las dimensiones, también cumplo 71 (febrdro) y también he DISFRUTADO cada etapa, como mulo construà una casa, y un hogar (una familia) que es mucho más que una casa; me hice albañil, carpintero, plomero, electricisa y hasta cacharrero, porque arreglo todo lo que puedo. La etapa que más he disfrutado es la de mono: las risas de los nietos y de la familia ante mis "payasadas", son un Bálsamo. Que tengas larga y bendecida vida. Un abrazo