Maria and I have talked about aging, caretaking, and our future lives several times this week.

There was a lot of listening, a lot of feeling, and a lot of warmth. It helps that we love each other so much.

The talks are significant. We both want to share our progress, hoping they will clarify our feelings and perhaps help others. This isn’t a matter of one or two conversations; it’s a big deal and a long haul.

We are committed to it.

The discussions are not about dying but about living well and meaningfully.

We are fortunate in one way – we both want the same things. I always remember when people talk about being lucky or complaining about being old.

I am not lucky, and neither is Maria.

We work hard for our lives and think about them. Like everyone else in the world, we’ve had lots of problems and lots of successes. Luck had nothing to do with any of them.

Aging is a good story for me; I have never been happier, busier, more in love, more meaningful, and more creative. I also have health problems associated with being an older man in America.

My health is not a crisis. It’s just life. I’m more than holding my own.

Not one drop of that was luck.

Maria and I have worked hard daily for our lives; no one gave them to us, and no magic wands or angels made it happen.

Preparing for aging and death is the same – luck won’t do it; we will do it ourselves.

She and I talked about some heavy things regarding caretaking; the only thing we argued about was the definition of the word “luck.” She believes that we sometimes get lucky – some force in the universe – but does not believe luck gave us each other or good lives.

A better word for luck to me is chance or fate. The dictionary definition of “luck” is “success or failure brought by chance rather than through one’s actions.” I think it takes a lot of work to be “lucky.” She proves it.

I am an outlier on many things, and getting older is one of them.

I believe that complaining about old age or embracing the demeaning old talk of our culture is lethal; it makes people sick and often die.  The world is often contemptuous of us and thinks we are irrelevant. The world is wrong.

I’ve seen it a hundred times – old talk kills. It’s not the world’s responsibility to make me happy; it’s my job.

Growing older isn’t a look-how-tough-life is a joke. There are many beautiful things about getting older. I don’t want to be around people who pity themselves, not at any age.

I need to have something meaningful to live for. Aging is not a hindrance.  I’m considering trading my precious Leica monochrome for a used Leica with a 50 mm lens.

It would be an almost even trade. I need to get to the next level. I need to be better.

I need to learn more.

Aging is a serious business, and I will get what I want to put out of it.

We all have to have something to live for, a purpose in life, and getting older, for all of its travails, has allowed me to give birth to myself once more, perhaps for the last time. I will not have another chance.

Maria and I each told the other in detail how we wanted to feel and how we wanted to be as we both aged; I am 17 years ahead of her.

I don’t want her to spend her life caretaking me if I get seriously ill or cannot care for myself. We talked about what we could expect and couldn’t expect from one another.

The conversation was beneficial and meaningful. We can start thinking and planning for the future rather than have it drop out of the sky and onto our heads.

The time is now, before one of us is helpless, not afterward.

For Maria to be my full-time caretaker would break my heart and be my most significant defeat, the worst possible outcome. I’ve never seen that as her job or obligation; it would not make me happy or comfortable.

It would cancel much of what we have worked so hard to achieve.

She wants to care for me for as long as possible but does not want to give up her life or work to become my nurse.

I’ve learned that aging gracefully is about thinking ahead, facing reality, and planning for it. My choice is to control as much of my aging and death as possible, which can only be done in advance.

Maria and I both understand that much of this is unpredictable. She might get sick or die before me, or I might be struck with sudden fatal illness or debilitation. All we can do is think about it, share our feelings, and be prepared.

This week, a new option opened for me and others: Vermont has opened its assisted suicide program to people living outside of the state for the first time.

I would easily take that course if I could no longer care for myself and Maria was charged with managing for me in that state.

More and more states are legalizing that option.

Other options include part-time care, home healthcare, assisted care, and changing how and where we live.

But our progress in talking about caretaking was substantial, and we both felt good because we could talk openly and honestly about it, something neither of us ever saw our parents do. It helps that we love one another; I’m not sure how it would work otherwise.

And it helps that we both want to talk about it, as painful as it sometimes is. I don’t know of any problem that was solved by ignoring it.

We can’t work out all the details this far ahead of time; there is too much we don’t know.

But we know what we want and trust the other to honor and respect those feelings.

That’s a big step and an important one. It’s just a start. I’ll keep sharing the process.