I haven’t lost interest in the activities that I enjoy. I don’t have feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. I don’t find it hard to get through the day. With all my aches and pains I can still LAUGH.
I walk with a slight limp but I still manage to put one foot in front of the other. I forgave my parents for the crime of throwing me into the world with clubfeet. But I was lucky my mother got me treatment right away so I wouldn’t be a cripple.
So, at approaching eighty, I haven’t yet grown sour and bitter and I enjoy my hobby of writing. So I’ve got it licked!
Humans are the only species that are consciously aware of their own mortality. I use my mortality as a motivator to enjoy what life I have left.
It’s a great irony that humans are both brilliant and savage, caring and indifferent, creative and destructive to self and others. So, the capacity to be aware of your mortality and to conceptualize has negative and positive consequences. I never had fame or wealth but in many ways I’m glad I’m a nobody, I’m happier! I am happy I’m free to do what I want to do with some limitations.
One by one death claims your loved ones and your friends. The older you grow the faster your peers die off. Finally you stand alone and there is nothing you can say or do to prevent it.
One of my friends said to me the other day:
“The past seems horrible to me, the present is gray and desolate, and the future is appalling.”
I thank my lucky stars I don’t share that bleak viewpoint.
I don’t concern myself with the future. My past, whether good or bad, I made the most of it. I live in the present.
I have lost the illusions of youth, but I still have enthusiasm for writing because of my curiosity about anything and everything. I hope it never leaves me.
One of the best things about growing old is the ability not to take things too seriously. I still have a belly laugh once in a while.
Those who are truly living corpses, are the middle-aged people who are stuck in their ruts and imagine the status quo will last forever.
I’m in favor of offering us a painless way out when our quality of life is nil. We didn’t ask to be born, so why should we be denied the privilege of making our exit when things become unbearable?
I see my life more of a comedy than a tragedy. The man that takes life too seriously is in big trouble.
In conclusion, with the world in such a mess, I try to accept my fellow man for what he is, good, bad, or indifferent.
I did my best, but it is never good enough!
Also published on Medium.