What about yours?
On Tuesday, I’m going to Loretta Prior’s funeral.
Yesterday, I sat next to wheelchair-bound Harland Nelson at a lecture.
Last night, I dreamed I was sitting in a Lazy Boy with a quilt over my legs and an empty coffee cup resting on a braided coaster.
All of us were 99.
My college friend John told me his mom Loretta was still sharp as a tack and comfortable in her six months in the nursing home, surrounded by photographs and mementos.
Harland said that lately, he’s been seeing images of his late wife Corinne for the first time since she died five years ago.
In my dream, I’m scrolling through the photos on my phone with a peaceful countenance.
Knowing I have nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to see.
This was not a nightmare. I felt at peace, blissful.
That’s what was so weird.
*
I won’t bore you with the details of my retirement schedule.
There’s nothing special about the quantity or quality of what I do: writing, volunteering, reading, walking, bicycling, coffee-klatching, traveling, and, occasionally, thinking.
If you’ve been retired for a while, you have your list.
Something else is on my mind.
I’m 74, and my partner Rebecca is 72.
We’ve been retired for six years.
At the end of most days, we’re pooped.
Even without dog-walking on our daily calendar.
*
My mother lived to 96, and her sister lived to 103.
Genes and lifestyle give me a reasonable chance to reach 99.
Twenty-five more years.
I’ve considered retirement years like the Men’s and Women’s Senior Golf Tours.
After the first ten years, your chances of winning plummet.
So, I’ve tried to fill up my retirement coffee mug in this first decade.
Doing is winning.
In a senior frenzy.
*
A few days ago, I joined another book club. A week earlier, I agreed to teach a Life Long Learning seminar this fall on the 2024 American Presidential election.
Two more things.
At the end of each day, as I settle under the covers, I tell Rebecca I’m glad to be tired.
But I’ve begun to allow another perspective to surface, represented by my dream.
We spend most of our adult lives feeling we have to justify ourselves through what we do.
That’s how we earn our keep.
Six years ago, I discarded my job, but not this notion.
*
I’m not ready to be 99.
For the end of my days.
But I wonder.
When will it become OK just to be?
Can I integrate this perspective into my daily life?
Let it sit for a while next to the frenzied me.
On a front porch, with a glass of lemonade.
Comfortable just being.
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has written a sage story about aging well.
