Growing Old
I confess. I never thought much about my age. Never fretted over it. Never worried about what it meant when the calendar turned over a new page. I had a great party at fifty and another at 65, but life had other plans at 70 and 75. This year, however, is different. Assuming nothing happens between now and July, I’ll be 80. I think I’m going to lean into it.
I like to have something to write about and since getting old is what I’m doing, I think this is it. My eighties. Wow. Maybe I can make something of myself. Apparently, there’s still time. Between my music and my writing, I have things to work on. I could even work on myself, as in trying to become a better person. Plus, there’s always hiking, which as I am fond of telling my hiking partners, is just a long walk.
To that end, I’ll try to enjoy things. Because at this point, the phrase life is short, actually means something. What’s left of my life might be short. But the last doctor I saw was really pleased with how few medications I was taking, so that feels promising. And overall, I feel pretty perky. So, I’m raising a toast to the coming decade, and I will try to make it my good old days.