TIME

My Editor has informed me that many of my recent posts have been extremely sarcastic, snarky, and at times, belittling.  This was immediately after I’d finished a new piece describing what I consider to be the dumbest state in the union, and just before I started writing another on the issue that concerns America the most—not education, health care, nor even national security. Rather, the price of gasoline.  

It was going to be a little sarcastic, too. 

“Don’t you think you ought to stop all of this sarcasm for a while?”  The Editor asked.  “You’re coming across like a complete asshole.”

“Well, sometimes I am an asshole,” I said.  “Besides, these are important issues.  And I’m not really writing in my own voice.  It’s in the voice of someone promoting these crazy beliefs.”

“Fine, write about that stuff later, if you want.  But why don’t you just take a break and write something nice for a change?  Something in your own voice.”

She’s probably right.  So the Dumbest State in America Award, and the What We Get Wrong About Gas Prices essay will have to wait.  In the meantime, maybe I can reflect on something else.

TIME HAS COME TODAY

As some of you know, teaching and practicing Geriatrics has been a big part of my life.  There was a time when I could quote all sorts of facts and figures about the impact of aging on the human mind and body.  I talked about this stuff with students for decades.  But I’d never experienced it first-hand.

Until now.

For those of you who haven’t made it this far, 70 is a strange age.  You know you’re certainly not young anymore, and the deterioration in your body—eyes, skin, hearing, joints, bones and muscle—becomes more evident each day.

A lot of your friends didn’t make it this far.  Good people, every bit as vibrant, active, and funny as you.  Gone, for no apparent reason.  You can try to understand it.  But think about it too long and it’ll only makes you nuts.

The world around you seems pretty nuts, too.  Advertisements for incontinence products flood the media, interspersed with those for anti-aging cosmetics.  People who look no different than you are featured in commercials for Long Term Care facilities, while Elon Musk’s 74-year-old mother poses as a swimsuit model.

You know people who run marathons, and others who have to use walkers.

The whole world’s a garbled stew of mixed messages.  You’re old, but you’re not really old.  Relax, take it easy, you’ve got plenty of time now.  No, make plans, hurry, the clock’s ticking.

How do you make sense of it all?

“Every gambler knows/The secret to survivin’/Is knownin’ what to throw away/knowin’ what to keep.”

The poet Carl Sandburg once observed that his life had been a succession of giving things up.  “When I was 40, I gave up playing baseball.  At 50, running up the stairs two steps at a time.  At 60, it was cigars.  At 70, I gave up whiskey.”

By 70, you understand this all too well.  I’ve already given up many things I’ve dreamed of, and, and if you’re honest, so have you.

Even though I ran head-to-head with Bruce Jenner in college, by the time he was winning the Gold Medal in Montreal, I realized I was never going to make it to the Olympics.  Later, I accepted the fact that I was never going to climb Mount Everest, win a Nobel Prize, or become President, either.

Kenny Rogers was right—you have to know what to throw away and what to keep, whether it’s cards or dreams.  At first, it’s easy.  But as you hit 70, it gets a lot more difficult.

Old dreams have evolved into new ones.  Which of those do you keep?  Which do you let go?  Are new dreams even possible now? Can you do something that might outlast you?

For those fortunate enough to have enjoyed good health most of their lives, the rapid aging that comes at 70 seems shocking at first.  The fact that your body is now breaking down seems wrong.  But you see it happening before your eyes.  And you feel it.

Perhaps most confusing of all, is the acceleration of it all.  Once the process starts, it picks up steam.  Well into the 60’s, you may feel no change at all.  But once it begins—the changes in skin, joints, and muscle—it moves rapidly.  Of course, you can exercise, adjust your diet, do all of the things those doctor-types have always told you to do.  But what you could quickly regain just a few years earlier now is out of reach.

You can get angry about this if you want.  You can claim it’s not fair.  You can desperately throw yourself into hedonistic pleasure-seeking in a crazy attempt to deny that it’s really happening to you.

Or you can accept it as part of life, and understand that everyone who came before you experienced it, and so too will all who come after you.

The concept of past and future is suddenly thrown into upheaval.  Statistics show that if an American successfully navigates life to age 70, he can expect to live an average of another 14 years—or she can expect another 16 years.  Auto accidents, gunshot wounds, and overdoses don’t happen nearly as often in those 70 and older, even as physical ailments increase.

But even under the best of circumstances, another 20 years is extremely fortunate, and another 30 is pretty much pushing it to the max.  What this means is that at age 70 the vast majority of your life is now over, and if there is something you value, something important, you can’t just say “well, someday when I’m older.”

Sorry, you’re already old.

All of this, of course, can play with your head.  It seems like just yesterday you were 50 (never mind 30 or 40), but it was actually 20 years ago.  But in another 20, if you’re still around, you’ll be 90. 

I can remember when I was younger, 20 years seemed like an eternity.  Now, the years fly by faster and faster.

You begin to consider what you’ve done.  Are there things I need to undo?  Wrongs I need to right? 

More importantly, are there things that bother the hell out of me that I should just toss away and forget about, along with the cards of unrealized dreams?

“ ’Cause every hand’s a winner/And every hand’s a loser/And the best you can hope for/Is to die in your sleep.”

Much about 70, though, is like any other point in life.  You realize how much more fortunate you are than so many others, regardless of how advertisers and politicians try to manipulate you into feeling anger, jealousy, and resentment towards those who might have a little more than you.

You accept the physical limitations that you can’t change (I have a bunch of plastic and metal where my actual knees should be, and will never be able to run again) and try to focus on what you can do differently (like ride a bike, for the first time in years).  You focus on the lessons you learn from the past, and try to be realistic about putting those lessons to use in the time you have left.

The whole notion that older people are some sort of “sages,” that there is some kind of “wisdom” that comes with aging, is frankly ridiculous.  I don’t feel a damn bit smarter than I did when I was young.  I’ve just had time to make a lot more mistakes.  I’ve learned from them.  I just wish others would learn, too.

I think most everyone in my age group who reads this can relate.  People are no different the world over.  We’ve all done a lot of things we can be proud of, and a lot of things we should be embarrassed by.  The key is what are we going to do with whatever time we I have left?

I’m OK with that.  I hope you are, too.

Interestingly, I’m more concerned about the future of the world today than when I was 30.  Does some ego-driven politician want to start a war, blow-up the world, ruin the environment, destroy civilization?  Why should I care?  I sure as hell don’t have that much time left, anyway.  Why should it bother me?

But it does.  It bothers me a lot.  I have kids.  I have grandchildren.  And the notion that someone wants to jeopardize their future just to make a fast buck or con people out of their votes makes me furious. 

It’s the reason I write this blog in the first place.

And for those of you in a younger generation who might be reading this, let me assure you, the aging thing isn’t all that bad.  It really isn’t.  You’ll get there, too.  All in due time.  In the meantime, in the words of Kenny Rogers, perhaps I’ve given you an ace that you can keep.

“You got to know when to hold ‘em/Know when to fold ‘em/Know when to walk away/Know when to run/

“You never count your money/When you’re sittin’ at the table/There’ll be time enough for countin’/When the dealings done.”

Thanks for listening, and stay safe.  See you down the road.

Further reflection (and listening):