One of the reasons I love my primary care physician so much is that she doesn’t see me as an older man or a sick one. She sees my spirit and judges my health accordingly.

There is nothing old about me, she says, and when I told her Covid struck me hard, she said she was sorry, but it was time to move forward and get healthy again. So I did.

She asked me how I was otherwise, a patient with heart disease and diabetes and a renegade foot and sleep apnea, and I was shocked by my instant reply: “I am good, Amy, ” I said, “this is the happiest time of my life.”

How curious that the happiest time of my life would come so late. This is a reminder to me never to give up hope. It was well worth waiting for.

Amy then shocked me; she said I was the happiest and most vital 75-year-old she knew.

I’ll be honest; I don’t see myself as all that cheerful; I can often get anxious, sad, or angry and sometimes hop from one to another.

But when I thought about it and then thought about it again, I realized that Amy was right. Like all good healers, she saw me more clearly than I saw myself..

My perspective from the inside is sometimes fuzzy.

As I get older, people speak to me in very different ways, most of which I dislike. People often see older adults as objects of pity. They usually approach me with deep concern in their eyes, as if a frog is stuck to the top of my head or I’m about to topple over.

I feel a bit toxic for the first time in my life; people don’t want to get too close to me. Younger people don’t even seem to see it at all. This is one of the many reasons I love my blog.

My spirit lives and thrives here, and people rarely see me face-to-face.

The first thing most people say to me, friends, and others, is:  “How is your health?” as if it is the most important thing about me. It’s an awful way to start a conversation or discover how I am.

They assume I have little else to talk about, or they look at me with great condescension as if I am about to burst into tears. I see the pity in their eyes.

It is difficult to explain that I don’t wish to spend a substantial part of my life talking about the price of medicines or the failure of doctors to heal me with magic wands. I don’t mind bitching about politicians; that’s a time-honored right of free and thinking people. But my health does not define me. I won’t speak poorly of my life.

I am not shocked when my body changes and needs help. I am not frightened about this final chapter in my life. This is the usual way of things; it is not a drama, scandal, or something that a new pill or machine can reverse. I suffer only from the things many older men suffer from. It’s just life, not drama. What do people expect to happen?

But the real shocker to me is the truth: this is the happiest time of my life.

I’d rather not have heart disease or diabetes, or sleep apnea, but when I think about what I do have in my life, I can’t help but smile and feel great joy.

I have Maria, my daughter Emma, my granddaughter Robin,  the farm, the animals, my blog, my photography, and some wonderful friends.

I write every day and take pictures every day, I am active and engaged and do good whenever I can, which is every day. Despite my heart and diabetes, I feel good and strong.

My blog has millions of visitors each year, and in my photography, I have found new ways to see and understand the world and find praise and affirmation. My Dyslexia, a life-long challenge, is under control. My proofreading software makes more mistakes than I do.

Dyslexia once kept me from doing many things I wanted to do. I am proud – happy – to say it no longer prevents me from doing anything I want to do.

My relationship with Maria has transformed my life, and supported, encouraged, and nourished me in ways I never imagined. Love is the great healer; after all, Jesus wasn’t kidding, nor was Aristotle.

She is my foundation, my rock, and I have built a new and prosperous life.

She is not everything, but she has made everything possible.

Whatever happens to my body, my spirit does not grow old— I am forever becoming.

My fantasies always picture a younger self, energetic, self-empowered, with an iron will and steely purpose.

The spirit is eternal.

Down where the souls live, I am just getting started every single day. I give thanks for my life every day.

The number of years I’ve lived does not define me any more than my health.

My spirit defines me.

Age does not turn me into a stumbling fossil.

Only I can do that, and I don’t choose to do that.

It’s my fault if I fail to remember and celebrate the great ideas of life and my place in it.

That can never really change.