BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN

Jimmy Carter died on the 29th of December. A century old. The press fêted him, especially the left flank of the mainstream media. Now that the obligatory 72 hours have passed, it’s fair to speak plainly. Carter runs Biden close for the title of worst modern American president. I saw the actions of his ‘philanthropic’ arm firsthand in the Philippines—sinister, appalling. But Carter’s sins aren’t the whole of this story.

What stays with me isn’t Carter’s mixed legacy, but the perspective of the aged. A hundred years is a span of time most of us can’t grasp. I’ve always wondered what centenarians think of their lives. Not the surface stuff — “I enjoy a bite of chocolate or a sip of whisky.” That sort of fluff titillates BBC local news, but it doesn’t linger. What intrigues me is the deeper view:

Why do they think they’ve lasted so long? What does life mean after such a stretch? And what of death, having seen so much of it?

A few years ago, I sat on a low stone wall overlooking a Cornish beach. My children swam in the sea below. (I prefer to watch the sea, not swim in it.) Beside me was an old man—a nonagenarian. I struck up a conversation with him. Always talk to your elders. The best we can do is listen and learn from those who’ve walked ahead.

He’d been a professor in the humanities at a well-respected university in the Southwest and was told not long before that he had no more than a year to live. Congestive heart failure. (I looked him up later; he died in 2022, four months or so after we spoke.)

He talked, and I listened.

Some things he said stayed with me, sharp enough to jot in my commonplace book. Ninety years on this earth had distilled his thoughts to their essence.

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Here’s what I jotted down from that day perched on that wall:

On the Nature of the World:
“The world is grander and crueller than you can imagine. Its beauty will take your breath away, and its indifference will break your heart. Accept both without bitterness, and you’ll live well enough.”

On Death:
“I’ve watched death come for friends, enemies, strangers, and loved ones. It’s as ordinary as sunrise. Don’t fear it. Just make your life worthy of the leaving.”

On Time:
“Time is precious. It slips through your fingers like water, faster and faster. Hold it too tightly, and you’ll lose its flow. Waste it, and it’s gone for good.”

On Love:
“Love is life’s greatest risk and its only true reward. Every heartache I’ve had was worth it for the love I knew. To love is to live fully.”

On Change:
“Change is constant. Resisting it is like fighting the tide. Better to ride the waves and see where they take you.”

On Mistakes:
“Mistakes teach us humility. The only real failure is not learning from them or letting them define you.”

On Gratitude:
“Gratitude is the antidote to entitlement. Count your blessings—not because they’re rare, but because they’re fleeting.”

On Humanity:
“Humans are marvels of kindness and cruelty. Forgive them, not because they deserve it, but because hate only burns you.”

What kind of man was the professor?

He spoke with the calm of a fellow who had seen the folly of idealism and cynicism alike. As he talked, the waves lapped below as they do today. His words were simple, but they had weight.

I suppose time does that. It grinds away the excess, leaving truths polished smooth. Maybe Carter reached a similar kind of stasis. For such thoughts aren’t impossible to grasp when you’re young, but they take on meaning when spoken by someone who has lived long enough to test them against life’s anvil.

How interesting that Life seems short, even at ninety years long.

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Dominic Wightman is the Editor of Country Squire Magazine, works in finance, and is the author of five and a half books.