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Leo Tolstoy wote: “The biggest surprise in a man’s life is that old age sneaks up on him so suddenly, leaving him unprepared for its profound reality.
Aging is a curious and humbling process. At 68 years old, I find myself confronted with all the undeniable signs that my body is changing, slowing down, and, at times, failing in ways I never imagined when I was younger. Last night, I wet my bed despite wearing a diaper. It wasn’t just a little accident either—the whole bed was soaked, the mattress beyond saving. Today, I’ll need to replace it, a necessary task that feels symbolic of something more profound. Of course, this is undeniably disheartening, but it also strikes me as comedic in a way—dark, but comedy, nonetheless. It mirrors the very themes of the book I wrote a few years ago, Divine Comedy.
What a strange thing aging is! There is an unmistakable circularity to it all. We start in this world as helpless infants, dependent on others for our every need, often unable to control our bodies. Then, we grow, mature, and gain independence, and for a time, we may even revel in the peak of our strength and capabilities. But eventually, we begin to slip back into a state of dependence and vulnerability. Is this a return to the state from which we began? It almost feels as if we grow into ourselves only to become children again—babies at the start and babies once more at the end. There is something darkly humorous about this relentless cycle, as if life reminds us not to take it too seriously.
I can’t help but wonder, is this the cycle of life? As a scientist, I am conditioned to observe, learn, and draw meaning from patterns. And this aging pattern—of rising to a zenith of physical and mental prowess only to fall back into fragility—seems inescapable. In the microcosm of our individual lives, it may feel frustrating, even tragic at times, but in the larger scheme, could it be part of some grand cosmic joke? Perhaps, like
Dante's Divine Comedy, life is a journey through darkness, absurdity, and humor, leading us toward some ultimate realization.
The reality of aging is undeniably harsh. There are days when the decline feels like a betrayal—when the body, once solid and reliable, now rebels with indignities like wetting the bed in the middle of the night. The amount of urine that poured from me last night startled me as if my body no longer
answered my will. How ironic that after decades of control, discipline, and mastery over A, I should find myself undone by something so simple as my bladder. It’s a reminder that, in the end, none of us is truly in control.
But what if we shift our perspective? What if we see these moments not as mere failures or sources of shame but as part of a broader comedy, a play in which we all have our part to perform? Laughter may not be the first response to aging’s challenges, but I believe it has its place. The way the universe works—the unexpected twists, the moments of absurdity—it all feels like a dark comedy, scripted by something greater than us, something that finds humor in our very human frailties. And why shouldn’t it? After all, our lives are filled with contradictions, with moments that make us shake our heads in disbelief at the sheer unpredictability of it all.
Life’s stages are cyclical. We emerge into this world dependent, needing to be cared for. In the middle, we flourish—our prime years are marked by independence, creativity, and strength. Then, as we age, we find ourselves returning to a kind of dependence, facing the same frailties we experienced at the beginning of life. And perhaps it’s in this circularity that we find the hidden comedy. The inevitability of it all could be unfortunate, but a certain absurdity forces us to laugh, even if the laughter is tinged with sorrow.
I choose to see my current experiences not just as defeats but as part of the divine comedy of life. They are humbling reminders that we are never truly separate from the vulnerabilities that make us human. My body is failing in ways I never expected, but this decline is strangely poetic. It is as if the universe, in her infinite wisdom, is reminding me not to take myself too seriously. After all, in the grand scheme of things, what are we but actors in this cosmic play?
Aging, then, is not just a tragedy—it is also a comedy. It's a dark one, yes, but a comedy, nonetheless. It’s an unfolding drama where each of us plays our part, and in the end, perhaps all we can do is smile, shrug, and accept the absurdity of it all. The bed-wetting, the diapers, the replaced mattresses—they are all part of the script. I can either resist it, feel sorrow and despair, embrace it, laugh, and continue observing this strange life
cycle. Because if life truly is a divine comedy, I intend to play my part with humor, grace, and perhaps even a sense of wonder.
Sabri Bebawi