0:11 ´ÙÀ½ ´ÞÀ̸é 44»ìÀÌ µÇ´Â Àú´ÂÀ̹ø ÇÑ ÇØ°¡ ¼ºÃ븦 ÀÌ·ç°í ±ú´ÞÀ½À» ¾ò´Â ¶æ±íÀºÇÑ ÇØ°¡ µÇ¸®¶ó ¿¹»óÇÕ´Ï´Ù.Á¦°¡ ±×·¸°Ô »ý°¢ÇÏ´Â ±î´ßÀºÁ¦°Ô °èȹÇÑ ÀÏÀÌ ÀÖ¾î¼ ±×·± °ÍÀº ¾Æ´Ï°í³ë¸Õ ¸ÞÀÏ·¯°¡ 1968³âÀÛÀÎ ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ Àú¼¿¡¼ ±×·¸°Ô ½è±â ¶§¹®ÀÔ´Ï´Ù. I'm turning 44 next month,and I have the sense that 44 is going to be a very good year,a year of fulfillment, realization.I have that sense,not because of anything particular in store for me,but because I read it would be a good yearin a 1968 book by Norman Mailer.
0:33 "±×´Â 44¼¼ÀÇ ³ªÀ̸¦ ü°¨Çß´Ù..."¸ÞÀÏ·¯´Â "¹ãÀÇ ±º´ë"¿¡¼ ÀÌ·¸°Ô ½è½À´Ï´Ù."...±×´Â ¸¶Ä¡ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ¿ÏÀüÈ÷ »À, ±ÙÀ°,½ÉÀå, Á¤½Å, ±×¸®°í °¨Á¤À¸·Î ÀÌ·ç¾îÁø Àΰ£ÀÇ ÀüÇüÀÌ µÈ °Íó·³ ´À²¸Á³´Ù.¸¶Ä¡ ±×°¡ µµÂøÇÑ °Íó·³." "He felt his own age, forty-four ..."wrote Mailer in "The Armies of the Night,""... felt as if he were a solid embodimentof bone, muscle, heart, mind, and sentiment to be a man,as if he had arrived."
1:28 ¿ì¸®´Â ´Ü¼øÈ÷ ÀÌ ÆÐÅÏ´ë·Î »ç´Â µ¥ ±×Ä¡Áö ¾Ê°í±×°ÍµéÀ» ±â·ÏÇÕ´Ï´Ù.ÀÌ°É Ã¥À¸·Î ½á¼ ¿ì¸®µéÀÌ ÀаíÀÎÁ¤ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â À̾߱Ⱑ µË´Ï´Ù.Ã¥Àº ¿ì¸®°¡ °ú°Å¿¡ ¾î¶®´ÂÁöÇöÀç¿¡´Â ¾î¶²Áö, ¹Ì·¡¿¡´Â ¾î¶³Áö¸¦ ¸»ÇØÁÝ´Ï´Ù.¼ö õ³âµ¿¾È ¸»ÇØÁÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.Á¦ÀÓ½º ¼ÖÅÍ´Â ÀÌ·± ¸»À» ½è½À´Ï´Ù."¸¸¾à ÀλýÀÌ ¾î¶² °ÍÀÇ ÀϺΰ¡ µÈ´Ù¸é Ã¥ÀåÀÇ ÀϺΰ¡ µÉ °ÍÀÌ´Ù." Yes, I know Mailer wasn't writing about me.But I also know that he was;for all of us -- you, me, the subject of his book,age more or less in step,proceed from birth along the same great sequence:through the wonders and confinements of childhood;the emancipations and frustrations of adolescence;the empowerments and millstones of adulthood;the recognitions and resignations of old age.There are patterns to life,and they are shared.As Thomas Mann wrote: "It will happen to me as to them."We don't simply live these patterns.We record them, too.We write them down in books, where they become narrativesthat we can then read and recognize.Books tell us who we've been,who we are, who we will be, too.So they have for millennia.As James Salter wrote,"Life passes into pages if it passes into anything."
1:53 6³â Àü¿¡ ÀÌ·± »ý°¢ÀÌ ¸Ó¸®¿¡ ½ºÃƽÀ´Ï´Ù.¸¸¾à ÀλýÀÌ Ã¥ ¼Ó¿¡ ´ã°å´Ù¸é ºÐ¸í ¾îµò°¡¿¡´Â¸ðµç ³ªÀÌ¿¡ °üÇØ ÀûÀº ±¸ÀýÀÌ Á¸ÀçÇÒ °ÍÀ̶ó°í¿ä.±×°ÍµéÀ» ã¾Æ Á¤¸®Çؼ À̾߱â·Î ¹À» ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸éÇϳªÀÇ ÀλýÀ¸·Î ¹À» ¼ö ÀÖÀ» °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù.100»ìÀÇ ±ä ÀλýÀ»¿ä.¿ì¸® Áß¿¡¼ °¡Àå ¿îÀÌ ÁÁÀº »ç¶÷µéÀÌ °ÅÄ¡´Â±× À§´ëÇÑ ÀÏ·ÃÀÇ °úÁ¤ÀÇ Àüü¸¦ µ¿ÀÏÇÏ°Ô ´ã°í ÀÖ´Â ÀλýÀ»¿ä.±× ´ç½Ã Àú´Â 37¼¼·ÎÀª¸®¾ö Æ®·¹¹ö¿¡ µû¸£¸é "½ÅÁßÇÑ ³ªÀÌ"¿´½À´Ï´Ù.¼¼¿ù°ú ³ªÀÌ¿¡ ´ëÇØ ¸¹ÀÌ ¼÷°íÇÏ´Â ³ªÀÌ¿´ÁÒ.°¡Á· º´·Â°ú ³ªÁß¿¡´Â Àú ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ºÎ»óÀ̳ªÀ̸¦ ¸Ô¾î°¡´Â °Ô ÇÑÄ¡ ¾ÕÀ» ³»´Ùº¼ ¼ö ¾ø´Â ÀÏÀÓÀ» ¾Ë·ÁÁÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.°Ô´Ù°¡ ´Ä´Â °ÍÀº ´ÜÁö ´Ù°¡¿Ã ÀÏÀ» ´ÊÃ߱⸸ ÇÒ »Ó¼¼¿ùÀº »óȲÀÌ º¸Áö ¸øÇÑ °ÍÀ» ²ç¶Õ¾î º¾´Ï´Ù.ÀÌ ¸ðµç °ÍÀÌ ¾à°£ ¾ÈŸ±õ±ä ÇÏÁö¸¸. And so six years ago, a thought leapt to mind:if life passed into pages, there were, somewhere,passages written about every age.If I could find them, I could assemble them into a narrative.I could assemble them into a life,a long life, a hundred-year life,the entirety of that same great sequencethrough which the luckiest among us pass.I was then 37 years old,"an age of discretion," wrote William Trevor.I was prone to meditating on time and age.An illness in the family and later an injury to mehad long made clear that growing old could not be assumed.And besides, growing old only postponed the inevitable,time seeing through what circumstance did not.It was all a bit disheartening.
3:44 ¶ÇÇÑ Àú´Â ÀÏ ³âÀÌ Áö³¯ ¶§¸¶´Ù ÀλýÀÌ °ÈÀâÀ» ¼ö ¾ø´Â ¹æÇâÀ¸·ÎÈê·¯°¥ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù´Â °É À¯³äÇÏ°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.°°Àº ³ªÀÌ¶óµµ »ç¶÷¸¶´Ù °æÇèÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ ´Ù¸¦ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù´Â °Íµµ¿ä.ÇÏÁö¸¸ ±×·³¿¡µµ ÀÌ ¸ñ·ÏÀ» ´õÇØ°¨¿¡ µû¶óÁ¦°¡ »ì¾Æ¿Ô´ø »îÀÌ °Å¿ï¿¡ ºñÄ£ »óó·³ ¼±¸íÇÏ°ÔÃ¥ÀÇ ÆäÀÌÁö¸¶´Ù ±× ¸ð½ÀÀ» µå·¯³Â½À´Ï´Ù."°¥¼ö·Ï ÀÚ±â Àڽſ¡ ´ëÇÑ È®½ÅÀÌ ÁÙ¾îµç´Ù"´Â °É ¾Ë°ÔµÇ´Â ½º¹°"ºÒ¸ðÁö¿¡¼ÀÇ Áغñ¸¦ ³¡¸¶Ä¡°í ½Ç»çȸ·Î ÁøÀÔÇÏ´Â" ¼¸¥"´Ù½Ã´Â µ¹¾Æ¿ÀÁö ¾ÊÀ» ¹æÀÇ ¹®À» Á¶½É½º·´°Ô ´Ý´Â" ¹ýÀ»¹è¿ì´Â ¸¶ÈçÀÇ ³ªÀ̱îÁö.Àúµµ °°Àº °ÍÀ» °æÇèÇß°í I was mindful, too, that life can swing wildly and unpredictablyfrom one year to the next,and that people may experience the same age differently.But even so, as the list coalesced,so, too, on the page, clear as the reflection in the mirror,did the life that I had been living:finding at 20 that "... one is less and less sure of who one is;"emerging at 30 from the "... wasteland of preparation into active life;"learning at 40 "... to close softly the doors to rooms[I would] not be coming back to."There I was.
5:26 ÀÚ ÀÌÁ¦ 100³âÀÇ ¸ñ·ÏÀ̸ðµÎ ³¡³µ½À´Ï´Ù.±×°ÍÀ» µÇµ¹¾Æº¸¸éÁ¦ »îÀº ¾ÆÁ÷ ³¡³ªÁö ¾Ê¾ÒÀ½À» ´À³§´Ï´Ù.Àú¿¡°Õ »ì¾Æ¾ß ÇÒ ³¯µé°ú¿Å°Ü¾ß ÇÒ ÆäÀÌÁö°¡ ¾ÆÁ÷µµ ¸¹ÀÌ ³²¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù.¸ÞÀÏ·¯°¡ ÇÑ ¸»À» »ý°¢Çϴϸ¶Èç ³×»ìÀÌ ±â´Ù·ÁÁý´Ï´Ù. Now the list is done:a hundred years.And looking back over it,I know that I am not done.I still have my life to live,still have many more pages to pass into.And mindful of Mailer,I await 44.