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Written by: Healthysport

Created: 01 June 2025

Last Updated: 01 June 2025

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Life and the Hibiscus Flower

Life reminds me of the hibiscus flower. It blooms for only a day, yet in that brief time, it explodes in full beauty—its colors sharp and vivid, rain or shine. It draws insects with its nectar and brings joy to anyone who beholds it. Then, just as quickly, it withers, folds back, and drops from its stem. All in just a day—or a little more.

Life is much the same. It’s incredibly short. I’m beginning to understand this more deeply now that I’m approaching my own wilting stage. Some flowers last a single day, others perhaps two. Both are given the power to grow, to open fully, to radiate glory—especially in the morning. But all share the same inevitable end.

These days, I work hard to stay grounded. Sometimes, I forget that my time—my youth, my strength, my skills, my appearance—is no longer in its prime. It feels unfair to expect my season of full bloom to last forever. But acceptance of reality is the key to living fully. This is the natural rhythm of life. Many try to defy it—some long to live forever, others go to great lengths to look eternally young, to stay in their prime—but the law of nature is unchanging, at least for now. Physical immortality belongs to mythology, fantasy, or science fiction. And though humanity may continue trying to outrun decay, that’s no longer my concern.

What matters now is living appropriately for the stage of life I’m in. First, I try to shed the illusion that I can still “do anything.” I tried—and my body broke down. Second, I often picture myself as I looked thirty years ago, but one glance in the mirror snaps me back to the present. Third, social media tempts me to mimic trends from a generation far younger than mine. Fourth, I find myself expecting the same things that this younger generation hopes for—though those expectations no longer fit me.

Someone might say, “Come on, man! Live like there’s no tomorrow. Seize the day. Keep dreaming and shining. Don’t surrender to old age!” I once believed that too—until I turned 62. Suddenly, fatigue came easily. Anxiety hovered close. Tasks I once found simple became difficult. I started feeling out of place around coworkers half my age. My jokes didn’t land. What thrilled them baffled me—and vice versa. My music is no longer theirs. Their beats and rhymes are foreign to me.

Yes, I once pretended to be hip and cool, but truth has a way of rising. Like a fading flower, I withdrew—moved quietly to the sidelines. Now that I’m nearing 63, even my nights are interrupted by nature’s call. My body recoils at too much noise or stimulation. I grow impatient with predictable stories and shy away from small talk about trending topics. Thankfully, I care less and less about how others see or treat me.

I still admire—and sometimes envy—those who seem to defy time. I had a 76-year-old neighbor who spent his days strolling downtown, striking up conversations with strangers, even flirting with women until it got him into trouble. He didn’t care. He lived unbothered—even after being robbed by a young prostitute. I marvel at politicians who thrive amid conflict, soaring in the chaos of power. Some seem to enjoy the tension of arguments more than their outcomes. There are businessmen who continue amassing wealth far beyond what they need. And scientists, artists, lawyers, doctors—who seem to burn with endless energy, as if untouched by exhaustion. They do exist.

But what about me? Is there still hope for someone who so easily slips into despair—who struggles against the quiet pull of decay and entropy?

2 Kings 20:16–19

16 Then Isaiah said to Hezekiah, “Hear the word of the Lord:
17 The time will surely come when everything in your palace—and all that your predecessors have stored up until this day—will be carried off to Babylon. Nothing will be left, says the Lord.
18 And some of your descendants, your own flesh and blood who will be born to you, will be taken away, and they will become eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.”
19 “The word of the Lord you have spoken is good,” Hezekiah replied. For he thought, “Will there not be peace and security in my lifetime?”

Reflection:

Self-absorption—this is the quiet danger of too much solitude. In isolation, it becomes easy to focus primarily on the self, forgetting that there are others who would gladly trade places with you, no matter how small your space or how ordinary your life may seem.

Each day, I reflect on my own struggles: between good and evil, my good and bad habits, moments of progress and decline, abundance and lack, temptation and restraint. A common thread runs through all these reflections: the self. Perhaps this is why a certain boredom creeps in by day’s end. I have lost sight of others—not entirely, but I tend to see others only as they relate to my needs, my joys, my frustrations. I rarely think of them for who they are, as individuals with their own struggles, desires, limits, and triumphs.

To be fair, my entire career was built around meeting the physical and functional needs of others. But truthfully, it often felt more like a job than a calling—an obligation carried out with professionalism, not personal connection. That’s how I was trained: to remain impersonal for the sake of efficiency. Yet that very detachment, maintained over time, can lead to forgetting the humanity of others.

A parent always sees the child. A social person is attuned to friends and the world around them. A performer is moved by the audience’s reaction. But retirement, unfortunately, tempts us to retreat into ourselves. It becomes easy—and at times, comfortable—to ignore the harshness of the world. We can avert our eyes from the suffering around us, finding shelter in our own small comforts.

I try to resist this tendency. I make an effort to engage in small conversations with people I meet—without expectations, without needing to be everyone’s friend. I try to be receptive. When possible, I help in small ways, but I’m careful. Help can be a lifeline, or it can be a trap when given to those who misuse it—for addiction, manipulation, or dependence.

The reality is this: whether retired or not, life will always present us with challenges—unexpected accidents, illness, loss, failure, loneliness, even unwelcome crowds. We will face both successes and disappointments. But the true danger is this: when we focus so completely on our own lives and forget the humanity of others, self-absorption can rob us of the joy of shared existence.