I JUST reached the age of 80. I still have growth in my life, but these days it can manifest itself in different and sometimes strange ways.
I’m sprouting hairs in places where nature never intended them to grow, while the hair on my head is thinning. My stomach has grown, while my height has diminished. My gums are growing, while my teeth are disappearing. My store of anecdotes is growing, while my memory of recent events is shrinking. My interest in working harder is growing, but my energy is waning. My visits to doctors are growing, but my life expectancy is diminishing.
Growth is not linear, but there are patterns. The key is to recognize the patterns and use them to your advantage. Age provides some advantages and strengths that we can exploit.
I remember, as a young adult, wanting very much to grow—in height, in strength, in intellectual capacity, and in success. I thought of growth as only moving in a positive direction. But now I realize that growth is multidimensional and multidirectional.
As a person who has been active all of my life and blessed with the energy to sustain my activities, I find it difficult to get used to the negative aspects of growth—of “growing” old. But as Churchill reminded us, growing old is better than its alternative. I see that alternative all around me as contemporaries die, while others become disabled. It’s as if our expiration date—our “sell by”—has come and gone.
As an old man, I value every day. A friend of mine said that when you’re 80, if you seem to wake up one morning and nothing hurts, it probably means you’ve passed on. Even pain, a companion to old age, can be a blessing. It reminds you that you’re still alive and enduring the trials and tribulations of growing old.
Philip Roth once observed that growing old is not a battle—it’s a massacre! Your reliable old body begins to turn against you. It’s like a game of whack-a-mole where every time you cure one malady, another pops up. It is a never-ending battle whose ultimate ending is entirely foreseeable. There is darkness, not light, at the end of the tunnel.
I always seem to be waiting for test results from one doctor or another. My principle exercise is walking from one doctor to another. The trajectory is the opposite of what it was when we were young. “Growth” now means tumors, plaque, kidney stones, and bunions. No more growth of that kind, please!
I don’t want to sound morose. I have lived a good life with no serious illnesses and look forward to more productive years. At least physically, I am happy with the status quo. But I know the status quo will not persist. Nor will my physical situation get better.
Now I want to grow emotionally. I treasure my relationships, with family and friends. I don’t need the number of my friends to grow. I have enough. But I would like to see growth in the intimacy of my relationships. I no longer value ambition for ambition’s sake. I don’t need more successes or accomplishments. I don’t have to prove anything. I don’t have to answer every criticism, of which there are still many. I no longer keep score—except for my blood sugar and PSA numbers. Quality has become more important than quantity.
Change does not come easily to me. I still think of myself as a young man on the move—until I look in the mirror. I have to fight against long-honed competitive instincts. I find it hard to say no to new challenges and opportunities.
I’m trying, with the help of my wonderful wife, Carolyn, to be more in the moment—to go to matinees, to turn my cell phone off, to take long walks without particular destinations. My life with Carolyn continues to be a source of great pleasure and joy, and I’m excited to share more time with her.
My eternal optimism has not waned with age. So when I gaze toward the future, I do so with expectation. I look forward to enjoying my remaining years.
