I started this 70andOlder blog-site with a question, “How should I spend my remaining years?” That led me to another question, “How many remaining years have I?”
I know there’s no real answer. As Shakespeare said through the voice of Julius Caesar, “Death will come when it will come.” But being the eternal Curious George, I Googled several life-expectancy tables. Some are more complicated than others. When I plugged in the various numbers and averaged them all out, they predicted I have about 15 more years — one outlier said 23.
When I look back, 15 years feels like a flash. It’s long if you are 10, but not if you’re over 70. You’d think this would get my attention — and somewhere inside me, maybe it does — but I don’t feel it. I know my life will end, but that seems abstract. It doesn’t grab me.
I don’t think I fear death. I have watched friends and family die. None went kicking and screaming and complaining. When their time came, most accepted it, a few even welcomed it. I’m certainly not there — yet. I’m too happy, enjoying my grandchildren and doing other things I love.
My attention is in the moment. What am I doing now, today? What’s coming up in the next few weeks, and with longer-range plans? How do I coordinate trips next year? That’s where my head is.
I also think about those common sayings, “Time is valuable. Don’t waste it.” “Time is the only thing we have that, when it’s gone, can’t be replaced.” These make intellectual sense, but again, I don’t feel them. Do you?
It’s not strictly true that I don’t feel time passing. I have one daily very real, visual, timeline attention-getter. Every evening I open one of the 28 small boxes on my month-at-a-time pill organizer. I swallow the contents, along with a glass of water, and close the little lid. Over the month the organizer gradually empties.
I don’t know if this is unique to me, or is a common experience, but those emptying pillboxes are the closest thing I get to feel the immediacy of time’s passing. At the end of the month, as I refill the pill organizer, I have a strong sense that a significant block of my remaining time has gone. It’s a day-at-a-time, and then month-at-a-time, visible message — “My time is passing!”
This doesn’t make me anxious. In fact, it feels rather smooth and nice. Perhaps sensing the movement of time and the approaching end is one of the pleasures of this age. The pleasure is not the ending, but how awareness of the end makes me more attentive to the now and sharpens what’s important.
Maybe that’s the pleasure. Yes, that might be it. Seeing the passing of time intensifies the pleasure of the moment with a gentle urgency. I feel that; when I’m with my children, when I’m volunteering with the second and fourth graders at Venetia Valley School, when I’m facilitating the Alzheimer’s Association caregiver support group, when I’m turning and decorating my ceramic bowls, and when I’m writing this blog.
Just recognizing this now, as I write, makes me teary. This is the kind of personal insight I was hoping to get from writing these blogs. As I mentioned in the blog-site introduction, years ago when I was writing a novel, the characters took over the story. I liked that and hoped something similar might happen with this new venture, 70andOlder. Perhaps it is.
My Walking Companion
I’m not walking down this discovery blog-path alone. A close friend, Janice Juvrud, who lives outside of Manhattan, has been coaching me with crafted questions. She is a jewel, patiently and reflectively helping me peek into carefully put-aside places, that I’ve avoided for years, but shouldn’t have. Now is the time to look. I’m glad I have a skilled and attentive companion along the way. Such fun! There’s no end to it. (That was an unintended pun.)
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- Do you see yourself in this blog? What have your experiences been? I’d very much like to hear from you. I’ve learned a lot from family, friends, and acquaintances. Sharing other’s experiences helps us understand our own. If I receive enough responses, I’ll assemble them (anonymously) as a future blog.
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Thank you for reading.
I do look forward to hearing from you,
me, Barry Phegan
