I refuse to speak poorly of my life or age or write as a suffering victim or someone who hates aging.
We all suffer, and we all can feel joy and gratitude. It’s our choice, not life’s. To claim that old age defeats me is to give up on life. And beautiful things happen to me every day, no matter my age or bald head.
I have a good friend I worked with in Boston who is my age and unhappy about it. He told me he tells his children “not to grow old,” he feels aging is an awful trauma and brings nothing but misery, pain, and decay.
I understand the disease of self-loathing; I’ve been there, but for me, it has nothing to do with my age.
I have another friend who says nothing prepared her for the dread experience of getting older. She’s right. That’s why nobody is ready for it. Our culture seems to believe that we shall live forever, and age and death are a complete shock.
I don’t feel that way, and I want to promise everyone who reads this blog that I will never write about aging that way.
Like everything else in life, it is a surreal chess match. It is what I want it to be, and what I make it. We are taught to start to hate life when our bellies show, and our hair doesn’t anymore.
When I was full of fear and lean like a beanpole, I was miserable. Today, I have no hair and an old man’s belly. I am not sad. How do the people who hate getting older account for that?
If I followed all the things written and said about aging online in magazines and online and across our culture. In that case, you might wonder why anyone over fifty doesn’t throw themselves under a tractor-trailer.
I’m a freak. I won’t use my blog to spread that kind of misery.
Old age is not about my stomach size or hair loss. It is so much richer and more profound, more rewarding than that.
And yes, there are plenty of aches and pains. But my life and being are about what’s inside of me, not what shows on the outside.
My soul can’t be seen, but I feel it every minute of the day. It is who I am, not my bald spot or belly.
I sometimes cringe when I look in a mirror, but not for long. I wonder who is staring back at me. I am learning to love myself, however long I last, and to love others, however long they last.
Aging is a physical, not an emotional, reality for me. I see myself as young and vital, even if others see something different.
I am fortunate to say that almost every wonderful thing in my life came to me in old age; being young was a lot harder and more demanding.
Everyone is entitled to their view of aging. My feelings about aging – I am 76 – are different from almost all my friends my age or younger.
Old age, like young age, brings all kinds of good and bad things. I was awful at being very young; I’m good at getting older.
I’m only speaking for myself, but as a writer and blogger, I feel obligated to tell my truth about aging and offer something different than self-pity and grievance.
I’ve had most of the well-known problems of getting older, and I’ve written about all of them. We hear fewer good things and more complaining, lament, self-pity, and suffering.
 People complain endlessly – and justifiably – about the cost of health care and the messy system it has become, yet it rebuilt my heart and food and gave me a longer time to live well.
Just a few years ago, I’d be long gone. Life is not black and white; neither is aging.
I have heart disease and diabetes and am no stranger to doctors, surgeries, aches, pains, and the cruel and insane cost of health in America. My friend might have told his sons that it’s easier to be old if you’re rich than poor or middle-class.
But there is so much more to aging than suffering, as there is so much more to health than bills:
As I grew older, I came to know myself, face myself, and set out to use the time I had left to improve.
As I have aged, I have become more intelligent, mature, and experienced, more willing to think of others, do good for them, listen to them, and work to make the world better than I found it.
I am less angry, less fearful, less ambitious, and no longer worried about getting more and making more or climbing to the top. For me, death is the top; life is my treasure.
Please pardon me while I list the gifts of aging for me:
In old age, I met Maria and discovered true love.
And I don’t have a million dollars in savings for old age, either.
As I approached 70, I became an accomplished photographer, working hard to learn how to take the kinds of photos I wanted, including my flower photos, which have elevated and enriched my life.
As I became older, I learned to take care of myself, and despite my diabetes, heart disease, and collapsing foot, I am healthier than I have been in years.
As I became older, I became more and more forgiving – my parents did the best they knew how to do. And the haters and trolls online suffer more than I do.
As I got older, I found the farm, my blog, Zinnia and Zip and the donkeys, and my wonderful companion and lover, Maria. Our love for one another has only grown, never diminished.
As I age, I learn I can’t do everything I used to: walk as far, run as much, or lift heavy things. There is loss.
And there is gain, but I rarely hear my older friends talk of gain or the balance of good and evil. It’s all bad, as if being young in America is a paradise, void of trouble. Dozens of adolescents in the United States die of drug overdoses every week.
They face a challenging world, violence, and a bitterly divided country. I’ve had a good life to live. I hope they have the same chance.
Are we supposed to believe that the young are all happy?
Life is rich and full of beauty at almost every stage. One of the most beautiful moments of my life was seeing Emma open her eyes for the first time while looking at me.
Nothing will ever top that. But it is also a joy to see her love for her daughter, my granddaughter, and how happy the two are in life.
As I aged, I moved to the country to feel part of the natural world. I discovered the world of animals—steers, donkeys, horses, sheep, chickens and goats, cats, and above all, working animals’ incredible love and companionship.
People always tell me they are too old to have a dog or cat. I’m sorry to hear that. I feel I’m too old not to have a dog or cat living with me or on my farm.
When I had heart surgery more than a decade ago, I never forget what the surgeon told me: “This is about medicine,” he said, “but more than anything, it’s about attitude. You’ll be okay if you get your head straight and decide to move on.”
These are wise words for me. I remember them this way because this is just how I see life and getting older.
I am not an old man and never will be. I keep moving on.
