Coming to Grips with Life.

Maybe it has to do with growing old, but I find I don't worry about things that used to bother me a few years ago. I find that I don't care what anybody calls me, what they say or think about me; whether they think I am sensible, or I am stupid. I find I do not care. At my age I have already figured life out.It is simple:
 I am human
 humans make mistakes
I will make mistakes until I die
 some things are going to work in my favour
 some will not
 don't worry about anything
 move on.
That is life in a nutshell for me. This is why when  anybody says anything negative about me it runs off my back like rain off the back of a duckling. I shudder my wings and take the next step. This, it appears, is one of the benefits of old age; you have seen so much crap that hardly anything bothers you deeply any more. Been there
 done that
 seen it already
 heard it before
 can virtually tell what is bound to happen next.
When I was a boy my mother used to send me to buy things on Fiennes Avenue where  a man named Mr.Dorset used to have his shop . He was a very playful man, and once he grabbed my hand and would not let go. I, being around ten years old, and he being somewhere in his seventies, felt I could easily take my hand and peel away his old fingers from my wrist. I failed,and I can still remember up to this day, how amazed I was at how impossible it was to just pull this old man's hand off mine. I was not free until he let my hand go.
 Sometimes when I listen to young people trying to "dis" older people, I see  Dorsett again. This time we (older people) are Dorset, and the young person doing the "dissing" is the younger us. They think their words can move us, but they can't, just as I could not move Dorset's hand sufficiently to make him loosen his playful grip.
They say old people are stubborn, but we are not. We just know that what you are telling us makes no sense in the true context of what real life is all about. We well know that all of your fuss does not matter:
 the speed with which you want us to move
 the mistakes you wish we would cease to make
 the remembering which you wish would always be sharply there....
It all makes no sense to us older people, because we know that in the end, life is just going to rumble over everything that is causing all your fussing, and all your complaining, and all the falling-out with each other, and all the cursing and all the hate. And two hundred years from now, nobody is even going to remember you young people  with all your fussing, and rushing and hurrying ever existed and we old people know this.
So what's the fuss?