Preservation of the Fleeting 

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I forget when or where it occurred, but I once stumbled across a description of life as “beautifully horrifying.” We often have a tendency to separate the good from the bad. This saying, though, suggests that life and all of its distinct cohorts and emotions should be melded together. 

 

This oxymoron, beautifully horrifying, resonated with me. I don’t like tearing apart the good from the bad as if it’s some colossal science experiment. They happen together, whether that be on the same day, in the same hour or even in the same fleeting, confounding moment. So let’s view them that way. 

 

Few acts fit this term better than aging. It’s dreadfully unavoidable; the wrath of Father Time, at some point or another, chases down all of us lucky enough to reach that point in our lives. When you first think about it, there’s really nothing good about aging, and that holds true for all parties involved. When you get older, you shrivel into a shell of your past self, reduced to a version unbeknownst to you and your loved ones. 

 

That’s the horrifying part. At the same time, I’d like to think, there’s something — and I’m hesitant to say beautiful — but perhaps less horrifying about it. Something blissful. Something sweet. The tranquility of retirement, maybe. The reward of becoming a grandparent. Ample time to reflect and ponder all of life’s rogue twists and turns. At the very least, there’s some good to tag along with the bad. Beautifully horrifying. 

 

I can’t say I’ve always thought about the concept of aging through this lens, but I have always wondered what it’s like to grow older. You know, that urge you have as a kid to ponder all of life's existential questions, mesmerized by the vast unknown. There’s an intersection between aging and a number of other topics that have long fascinated me: nostalgia, memories, birthdays, time. 

 

This project was born out of that crucible. It aims to weld together these concepts in a sort of tangible, creative exploration, which I hope will then spark an array of subsequent lightbulbs amongst the audience. 

 

The first time I really began to grasp what aging meant, in a less literal sense, was through my grandfather. Through this experience, I came to realize that everyone doesn’t stay the way they were when you first met them. I think this is a trap I fall into quite a bit — not realizing that nothing in this world is stagnant, on any scale. Things change. And though days may drag, things always change quicker than you anticipate. 

 

I only visited my grandfather’s care center a few times, but the memories are stubborn and vivid. Abdul, his primary caregiver. The game of bingo. The TV where I watched on alone as Michigan lost to Ohio State. The one computer where patients gathered around to peruse local dating sites. 

 

I’m not sure why that’s what I remember, but it is. The details get lost — I can’t remember much of the layout or his room. The different places jumble together, also; I get mixed up between the first place, the apartment and the final destination. 

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Those brief moments I was there, and the ones I lived vicariously through my mom’s phone calls, shaped my early understanding of the concepts I outlined earlier. They served as the foundation and inspiration for this project, a creative exploration of Alzheimer’s treatment and its various trickle-down effects on memories, nostalgia and the perpetually vulnerable loved ones. 

 

So, I give you this experience. I hope that this piece makes you at least pause and consider nostalgia, time and memories in a way that you hadn’t pondered before. 

 

Thank you for your interest and your time. 

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- Jared Greenspan, University of Michigan Class of 2023