My 40s have been years of reexamination, most of all of music. Certain composers and musicians I love just as much today as when I was in my teens, some less, and some much more.

When I was younger, it seemed I only had time for the most extraordinary, rarest, emotionally intense recordings. Things started to change when I was in my 30s. Gradually, I fell under the charms of those recordings that had earned Penguin Guide rosettes or the epithet “admirable” from the Gramophone — the kind that my twentysomething self had scoffed at as square. Dutoit’s Ravel. Marriner’s Mozart. Haitink’s Shostakovich. And Mahler. And Bruckner. And Beethoven.

I haven’t “outgrown” the titans of the past. Just that my ears have now widened to make room for other perspectives on greatness. The musicians of today also have a number of advantages over the old. As much as I treasure Piero Coppola’s recordings of Ravel, there’s no denying that as a purely aural experience the new recordings of the composer’s music conducted by Christian Măcelaru are easier to listen and enjoyable in their own right.

Probably it’s simply a matter of evolving attitudes that are a natural part of aging. When you’re young, it isn’t enough to merely live. It’s as if you can only thrive by feeling the searing burn of existence. That’s how I felt 20 years ago, anyway. With the passing of the years, though, I’ve learned that there is more to the holistic enjoyment of life than what is found at the edges. Serenity, patience, control, acceptance, the contemplation of beauty — all facets of life that are rewarding, even thrilling to explore. Whether that’s sitting quietly with my wife at the park, walking around the neighborhood and being surprised by the rare sight of a rabbit or deer, watching hummingbirds fluttering around our feeder. Or listening to Haitink’s admirable interpretive equipoise in his Decca recording of Shostakovich 11.