Some time ago, I visited a place. Visited a few old people from some bygone era. I came back with the impression these are people that have seen life. They are either sitting there..or lying in their bed..surrounded by their great grand children..with eyes that were empty..and their words were soulless and hollow. And they were “just waiting to die”.
And later during one of my late night talks with a sozzled up soul, an accomplished craftsman of words..he brought up the topic about that trip. Then I said to him, “Ya, I met them all..they are all just waiting ..waiting to die” and he went into hysteric peals of laughter that later turned into a wailing. Yea..he is unable to look into the face of death. Living is never a certainty but death is. Why do I say it now?
I just opened this book, “Outliers” by that son of a Jamaican mother and a British professor of Maths..Malcolm Gladwell, and there in the introduction, “The Roseto Mystery” the first lines were..”These People were dying of old age. That’s it.” What a coincidence!
The Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, the author is a staff writer with The New Yorker