“Don’t get old,” my grandfather warned me as a youth. Well, sorry, Grandpa!
At age 81, I am in denial about aging. I won’t look in the mirror, because the real me is maybe 23 years old. I fret about every little ailment, but I don’t think about death. Not gonna happen!
When I was co-chair of a retirement group in Washington, D.C, it was the largest organization in the church. Half the people, including me, wanted to talk about fun things to do in retirement. The others wanted to talk about dying. Forget that!
If you are a 65-year-old male today, your average life expectancy is about 18 more years—or age 83. When I get discouraged, I think of the many people I knew who never made it this far, who no longer have the wonderful privilege of life itself. Sometimes I think of them when I look between the trees in winter and see a vast landscape, or see a moon shadow over a snowy field,.
Sure, I have a will. But how do you avoid thinking about death? You keep going like the band that was still playing music on deck as the Titanic struck the iceberg. Sing, write, bike and exercise like there is no tomorrow. I think my friends at the Silver Sneakers exercise class at the Y feel that way.
I have always done my best work on deadline. Trying to do all the things I have put off—the bucket list. And dropping the ones that are no longer feasible. Such as helicopter skiing!
Making a difference. Creating a legacy. Leaving a mark on the world when you…uh…not gonna happen!
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