Getting old is not for sissies, I have heard. I'm not there yet, but it's coming and it's coming fast. I will be fifty-eight in a month and five days, seven years away from my pension. I so far enjoy reasonably good health. Last spring there was a bit of a scare with my slightly elevated blood pressure and blood cholesterol but I have modified my diet and already lost at least twenty pounds. These are long term changes. I have to be prepared to eat this way for the rest of my life or it isn't going to work, I'll regain all my lost pounds plus an extra fifty, my blood pressure and cholesterol will skyrocket and I'll be dead before seventy by stroke, heart attack or both with three different cancers thrown in. That's worst-case anyway but I do plan on taking better care of myself for the rest of my days and I still expect to see one hundred and beyond, all going well.
Of course, living to be a centenarian will make me a statistical oddity. This is more likely to happen to women than men. It is more likely to happen to wealthy men, and it is more likely to happen to wealthy men who are married. I am poor, single and male. Very few in my demographic make it to seventy-five. We have the highest incident of suicide, even more than teenage boys, as well as alcoholism. We are least likely to eat well or healthily, most likely to be lonely and isolated, most vulnerable to depression. I say phooey to all that.
I have no family and few if any close friends. I never get invited anywhere for Christmas, no one remembers my birthday. I very rarely if ever get invited anywhere. I live alone in a government subsidized apartment. And I refuse to go down with the ship.
I have one step-cousin with whom I am in contact. She is terminally ill with cancer. When she dies the last link between me and my relatives will die with her. Not a great loss. They all ignore me anyway. I have amputated Christmas and every Christmas Day I work at Venture, the small psychiatric hospital that employs me. I can support and take care of others, stay for dinner and get paid for it. I celebrate my birthday by flying down to Mexico or Costa Rica for the month of March. I have friends who are so busy in their daily lives that the very fact that they can even carve out one hour a month to have coffee with me is plenty evidence of their love and care. Living alone is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I never have to wait for the bathroom, tolerate someone else's mess in the kitchen or argue about useless details. I have infinite time to paint, read, listen to news and educational programs on the radio, write, pray and think and reflect without distraction. I can afford my rent and live with dignity.
I greet each new day with a spirit of thanksgiving and curiosity and I face the night with wonder and relief. My dreams are fascinating, to me anyway. My work with others in need every day reminds me of how good I have it and I expect that I will continue with this blessing of work that I love well into my retirement. Even though I lose friends easily sometimes I make them with even greater ease and I am going to continue to be there for others. My church involvement is tremendously beneficial. Yes, there have been conflicts and stress lately but the unpleasantness is teaching me to deal more effectively and constructively with disagreement and I intend to continue there. Painting and other art making is by far one of my most loved activities and this kind of activity is sure to keep my brain young and functioning.
My most frightening reality check is my own father. When he retired he gradually isolated himself and became increasingly miserable until he eventually contracted Alzheimer's from which he perished. I am confident that this will not happen to me. I have become fluent in Spanish as a second language, and friends in Mexico and Colombia and Spain with whom I communicate by email and Skype and I hope I never lose the joy of learning nor the enjoyment of good daily exercise, nor the sense of wonder of the beauty of creation that surrounds me constantly.
I will not go gently into that good night.
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