Middle-aged

Author: Yu Pingbo
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2005-01-01
Features: When mentioning Yu Pingbo, people often think of "Red Studies" first, knowing that he is renowned for his research on Dream of the Red Chamber. In fact, as early as the 1920s, Professor Yu gained fame in the literary world with his poetry and prose, becoming a celebrated poet and writer in the early days of New Literature. This book collects the essence of Professor Yu's prose throughout his life, allowing readers to see another side of this great Red Scholar as a prose writer, which is quite unique. The book is divided into seven sections, featuring 62 classic prose pieces by Yu Pingbo. For those who love prose, especially Yu Pingbo's prose, this is an invaluable collection of personal prose masterpieces.
What is middle age? It's not easy to describe clearly, so I'll just say what I've observed. When we gaze at distant mountains and feel that our path lies there, we can't help but experience a slight tremor (or perhaps it's not so slight, which is more human). But as we get closer, the lush green gradually fades, and eventually, at a certain point, we no longer see the distant blue but only the ordinary road, trees, and rocks. With our hopes dispelled, we continue forward with ease. This certain point is hard to define—if it exists, it must be middle age. I, too, have always been deeply concerned with life and death, but only in recent years have I gradually become indifferent. Looking back at my old writings, some seem quite distant and otherworldly. Could this be because I've reached middle age? It seems there really is such a thing. I thank the creator, whoever he may be, for allowing us to be born of nature and return to it. How profound is this cycle! It can't be put into words, only admired; admiration is beyond words, leaving only joy.
I never expected that after years of intense contemplation, I would have mistaken an unsolvable "mystery" or "obstacle" for understanding, only to realize that when I was close to it, I had already passed it by without noticing anything. Is today different from yesterday, or is yesterday different from today? There must be a right or wrong answer between the two. But this answer depends on your perspective—so it's all for nothing. Judging yesterday by today, yesterday seems wrong; judging today by yesterday, today has no place either. Do you doubt it? I still retain faint memories of it. Or perhaps you'll be troubled by young people who don't understand what I'm talking about—that would be the best proof.
Take mountains as an analogy. When climbing, we are full of vigor, fearing that the long path may not match our strength. In reality, however, it's a magnificent mountain, and there's still a way to go. Thus, all who visit are happily and diligently moving forward. Once on the summit, the view is vast, and before us lies a winding path down the mountain. If we reflect on our initial intentions, how could we not feel utterly discouraged? But no. The vigor we once thought so great now seems inferior to the mountain path, and our enthusiasm, after one glance at the clouds and mist atop, fades away. Now, only one thought grows increasingly urgent: the desire to return home.
The descent is swift, but for those returning, it holds a different flavor. If you ask, what connection is there between those descending and those ascending who pass each other by chance? A nod, a few words—they understand nothing. We need not hold such expectations, for it's not an easy thing. As for these two distinct feelings, whether they can merge in one's heart at any moment—I must confess I know very little. I suspect it might happen when lingering at the summit. Perhaps that is what middle age is.
I guess. "Alone I stand on the mountain,"—how much lingering has been left behind? True middle age is just a point, but the common understanding of it is a period. Thus, another interpretation of it is old age, or at least leaning toward old age. Chinese scholars have a habit of lamenting their age and humble status, which is indeed quite vulgar—no wonder young people look down on it. In my humble opinion, because I fear being labeled "vulgar," I dare not speak of "old age," which is perhaps too refined. So relying on age to boast is bad, and always claiming to be "eighteen" in one's mouth is no better. How difficult it is to speak! The more careful you are, the more ridiculous you become.