On becoming 60: You know, when you are a kid, you always look forward to the new year and all the New Year’s Eve hoopla and then waking up and it is a brand new year with all of that excitement - and it seems like such a big deal. And then, going from one decade to the next, it seems, is an even bigger deal - at least when I was ten. And being born in 1940, I realized I could still be alive and assumed I would really look forward to welcoming in a brand new century. But I actually didn’t. In fact, I actually dreaded that, even when young. Why? Because I would also be about to turn sixty - and that, I assumed, would make me officially an old man. And being an old man did not seem to me to be appealing at all.
Well, being sixty was just fine. Except for the number, all was well. I loved what I did for a living, both my wife and I were healthy and active, we traveled in the summers throughout the western US and Canada to camp and hike. Our kid was well established in his own life and we saw him often. He reintroduced me to playing golf - which I had done early in life and through college, but had taken a three decade hiatus. And that seemed like something I should do again, it was fun, and my wife enjoyed taking it up it as well - especially for those long trailer camping trips as it gave us something else to do together.
Turning sixty-five sounded a bit old to me - going on Medicare and Social Security and all, but I didn’t feel old. I did officially retire from the university, but that was only because I could continue teaching half-time for five more years (which I would have wanted to do anyway). That is, I could reduce the time on campus and have more time for other things - both professionally and recreationally.
On becoming 70: Seventy really sounded old - especially because my five years of teaching half-time came to an end. That meant I was officially done - I was no longer doing what I had been doing my entire adult life! And I wasn’t sure how I was going to like that - losing that sense of identity and all. But I didn’t feel any different than I did a decade earlier. I was playing a lot of golf, hiking a lot (although not doing all the cycling I had a decade earlier). And we were planning more trips and how we were going to spend our real retirement.
Then, tragedy struck! Only a month after my last class (what I assumed would be the last ever), my wife was diagnosed with an aggressive glioblastoma. My seventieth birthday was “celebrated” with her in recovery from major brain surgery and we were faced with what would come next. Dealing with all of that became our lives for the next twenty months. She did well for much of that time, thankfully, and was just living life as actively as she could until it was no longer available.
Approaching 80: Nearly. I’m a year and a half away from really being old. And frankly, I don’t feel much different than I did when turning seventy - or even sixty. It’s been nearly seven years since losing my wife. I’ve written two books about that time and the five years after. I was asked to teach again at the university (for three years). I am still active - both intellectually and physically. I play a lot of golf - walking my hilly local course and score under my age (a big deal for us old golfers). I still hike, although not as much or as long as I used to. I continue to take long road trips into the Canadian Rockies and elsewhere to hike and play golf along the way and make quick trips to San Francisco for golf with my son and my volunteer work with a neuro-oncology caregiver program. I tutor a single mom who has gone back to college, see friends, and live an active life. I realize I have been lucky in so many ways. I also realize that luck will not continue forever.
But if I learned anything from my late wife during that twenty month ordeal, it is this: We have to live the life we have regardless of the circumstances. And we don’t always get to choose the circumstances.
[EDIT - May, 2020]
On turning 80: That answer was written about a year and a half ago. And I am now just about to turn eighty. That does sound old. In fact it sounds very old. But the fact is, not much has changed. Well, actually, the whole world has changed, but that’s a different story.
I still do much of what I had been doing. I’m not playing as much golf nor am a planning a golfing/hiking road trip to the Canadian Rockies for this summer - but that is because of how the world has changed, not because of how I have changed. And I expect eventually, I will continue to do those things … if I stay lucky.
Even “sheltering-at-home” has not affected me a lot. I have more time to write - and have done a couple of writing projects. And I can still recreate outdoors, hiking in the state park near my home - along the bluffs overlooking the Pacific or into the hills - always with my camera.
Of course, I have to be a bit careful where I walk on those trails - or things could change in a hurry:
And, of course, there is always golf:
So life is good for me, even though I’m old. And, yes, I do still realize that I have been very lucky.
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