Embracing my future face with a new wrinkle

The writer in 2005.

(Jean Chamberlain Froese Photo)

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(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, July 12, 2025)

My boy took my photo the other day. Ever the fun-loving young man – he turns 20 in 10 days – he then ran it through an AI app to show me my future face.

I appeared in a somewhat flattering light as an old man with a beard, gray and long and expected. Okay. But by some wild AI maneuver I also somehow stood beside a giant fish that measured almost as long as I’m tall. My day’s catch, apparently.

I laughed. In its artificial wisdom, AI had recreated me to resemble Santiago from Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” As book characters go, he’s very fine, having, in truth, horrible luck with fish, but a certain unshakable outlook. Hemingway writes, “Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same colour as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.”

On Monday I’ll become an old man, sort of, on one of those birthdays that’s a multiple of 20. If I were to listen to the psychologists, I’d now write myself a letter. Apparently it’s a way to better integrate with your life’s various selves. But really, what would I say?

What would you say?

“Dear Past Self. Well, you’re 20 now. This is the year you’ll leave home for good. Best thing you’ve ever done, my friend. Don’t let it go to your head. You had help. Just saying, at 20 you think you know more than you do.”

Or how about this? “Dear Past Self. Well, you’re 40 now. You’re one lucky dog. Wife. Kids. Travel. Don’t let it go to your head. You had help. Just saying, at 40 you know more than when you’re 20, but you still don’t know what you don’t know.”

So I think we can have symmetry in these letters. But let’s be wary. Past Self doesn’t know Future Self. So let’s tell Past Self to stop worrying about life, sure, but let’s use care, like this: “It will all work out. Even when it doesn’t, it does. Don’t ask me how. It just does.” Write sensibly without divulging the future.

Now what about Future Self? This, it seems to me, is an entirely different ballgame.

Take the old man with the fish. Say he’s 80. “Dear Old Man.” I mean, “Dear Future Self. I guess it’s just you and me from here on in. We’ll know each other better day-by-day, so let’s make the best of it. Because what choice, really, do we have?” This seems reasonable. But remember, life is narrowing, so if you’re not yet integrated with your other selves, now is the time.

The other funny thing about aging is this. In our heads we often feel younger than our years, often by about 20 per cent. (This phenomena is more common in North America, Europe and Australia than in, say, Japan, where older people are given higher honour.) So as we age, we do and don’t know it.

This is why it’s probably safe for a 60-year-old to go fishing but not cliff jumping. It’s also why if you and your love throw a joint 60^th birthday party – we did – then your playlist will be from that golden era of the 1970s and ‘80s, the time when you experienced life more intensely alongside those songs.

This is the thing. I feel 40. An Atlantic article by Jennifer Senior, “The Puzzling Gap Between How Old You Are And How Old You Think You Are,” explains why.

Of course, Hemingway’s old man with the “cheerful and undefeated eyes” – among my favourite descriptions in all literature – didn’t feel his age. He just appreciated what life handed him, even the struggle. Fish or no fish, he just put his boat out there to explore that big, beautiful sea.

It’s a good thought for a summer day. Whatever your age.

But now, you, young man? Happy Birthday. That’s right, Happy Birthday to all your selves.