Aging. Redux

Only when I say "I'm 66" out loud does it actually occur to me.

Friends and readers. I wrote this back on March 23, 2023 at the tender age of 65. A few of my early loyalists read it and sent me humorous emails. I did not have comments or likes turned on at the time—I was just figuring this Substack thing out. Now that I’m a graceful 66—apparently I have it all figured out?

Anyway, here’s Aging—Redux. Enjoy.

---

WTF moments come along daily in this World. Many are caused by the nuttiness of the culture. Others spring forth from within our own minds. I have liked and used for a very long time the acronym B.G.O. for blinding glimpse of the obvious. Those moments where a startling thought arises in our minds—it may have just formed—or may have been percolating for a long time. Either way it’s the sudden rise to our frontal lobe consciousness that is the BGO. Like a meaty rainbow trout rising to the dry fly bait on a perfect sunny afternoon—it just hits all of a sudden.

Throughout my younger life I never actually thought much to aging or the age of 65. When I did think of it—it was about others. I never imagined what my life at 65 would be—honestly I didn’t think I’d last that long. I thought of my Maternal grandparents Virgil and Polly. My Paternal ones—Archie and Dorothy—each had wonderfully long second marriages after becoming widows. Roy and Stanley. I thought of my parents as they began to retire and age—making interesting decisions about how to spend their lives closer to the finish line than the starting line. I never did think it about for myself. My youth was all about speed. Running towards something or running away from something was my nature. Quickly.

Aging athletes have often been quoted as saying speed is the first thing to go. You can maintain the skills—and you can certainly add to the wisdom of execution. But speed goes. I remember a moment in my 40s where I finally took the bait and showed up on a Denver summer Ultimate league field. I had retired from a competitive career in the sport at the highest level—winning national championships all through my twenties and into my thirties. I hadn’t played a lick for a decade. So there I am running around throwing and catching and having fun. The youngster that I was guarding took off for the end zone and I took off after him in defense. Only I didn’t. As the gap widened, so did the conflict between my mind and my body. My mind said, no one ever runs away from you. My body said, well they do now old-timer. My lack of acceptance in that moment was powerful. I never went back to summer league. Fuck that. Stay retired. Stay a legend. Lots of guys I played at the highest level with in the 80s have pursued a long and happy career playing Masters and Grandmasters well into their 40s and 50s. Good for them. For many of them—speed was not something they could lose—they never had it to begin with. I always loved the name of the Colorado Masters team that many of my buddies played on. Old and in the Way. In my opinion—nuff said.

One of the cruel ironies of human life is the reality that we actually get smarter—hopefully—and most certainly wiser as we age. Meanwhile our bodies are morphing into mere approximations of their former selves. And so it is. Acceptance is the key.

Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson captured it perfectly in their song “Live this Long.”

Whiskey goes down
Like cold, spring water
Over rocks, and the close of the day
When you're flying like Eagles
Down American highways
You lose a lot of friends along the way
But we just keep on moving
And rolling along
Can't look back
We might turn to stone
But we would've taking much better care of ourselves
If we would have known we was gonna live this long

I can do other things well at my age. Lots of things. I can score better in golf because I play less recklessly. I can work out and maintain a functional level of fitness. But here’s that phrase that I hate so much. At your age. Or, for your age. You look good. You played well. Then here it comes. Try that on a woman you love and see how that works out for you.

Sixty-five. I got to set up my Medicare. Yay. I get senior discounts on stuff. Oh yay. I might get to hear, I wouldn’t have guessed you were 65.

Oh fucking yay. I’ve lost great friends and loved ones. That sucks hard. Trust me when I say I’m grateful for every moment and every day on this earth. But it’s a daily practice and I work hard at it.

What I’ve learned to do mostly as I’ve aged is to try to be more compassionate. With myself for sure—but also with others. Life is hard. Being a human being is wondrous and amazing but also challenging and full of suffering. Have I learned from my own suffering and the suffering of those around me? Yes I have.

That right there is a new-found skill that I can hone until the day I pass from this earth. Yay sixty-six!!