The World Has Aged Me

In a book I read recently, one of the characters makes the observation: 

"My older self knows that you must stop—in the middle of the chaos—to take in the world around you. To breathe in deeply, smell the sunscreen and the rubber of the ball, let the breeze blow across your neck, feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. In this respect, I love the way the world has aged me."

I appreciated the idea that aging can point us towards gratitude. Towards a deeper appreciation of even the most common human experiences and toward grace in the midst of pressure or disorder. 

Does the world age everyone this way? Is it choice? 

I suspect, and I hope, that I have a great deal of say in the way the world ages me, and I endeavor to make the most of it.