Depends upon my age and phase [as in whether I wanted to be a cowboy, a doctor, a race car driver, Batman, or a misanthrope / rapscallion at that particular time.]
Generally speaking, I had the strange (not to mention unproductive) tendency for science to top of the list while mathematics was usually dead last.
What major historical events do you remember?
Alexander takes Egypt, the death of Kublai Khan, the War of 1812, the Teapot Dome Scandal… You know, the biggies.
old stone bridge:
weeds grow in its cracks,
its river ran dry.
Ah, the mountain!
Old enough to know
When to stay quiet,
And disciplined enough
To stick to it.
One may live a century --
Short span though it may be:
Joys are bitterly brief
And sorrows are many.
You may take a wine jug
On your wisteria rounds:
See flowers grow to the eves
As sparse rains wet the grounds.
And when the wine is gone,
One strolls with cane and croons.
We become wizened with age;
South Mount, fair through countless moons.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry (二十四诗品.) It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the twenty-third of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 旷达, which has been translated as: “Illumed” [Giles,] “Big-hearted and Expansive [Barnstone and Ping,] “Expansive,” and “Open-minded.”
roadside saplings
take Fall colors for a time,
before going bare;
the envy of humans:
at once young & old.
There's something beloved about
an ancient place.
Entropy increases.
Nature devours.
Nothing lasts forever.
Nothing of man can be built of stone
sturdy enough or steel resistant
enough to become ancient
by mere persistence.
It must be loved.
Someone must clean the grass
from the cracks, must scrub
moss & mold, must replace
pieces that slough off...
(& must do it all with tender
craftsmanship.)
I suspect anything ancient
that's higher than my knee
is a Theseus's ship:
rebuilt stone by stone through the ages
until only a wafting idea of the place
remains ancient.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
As far as life experiences, I find just about everything gets better with age. It’s probably to do with the dawning realization that most of the shit one has gotten worked up about over the years wasn’t worth it (as well as the realization that one has fewer years ahead than behind and so one had better get on with it in an aware kind of way.) As icing on the cake, I’m virtually certain to be long gone before the oceans boil or the robots rise up and massacre humanity.
If the question is what kind of things get better with age… certainly not french fries.
ripe grain turns gold, the year has matured like a person going gray
Tiger Riding for Beginners 