The Pleasures of a Good Old Age

Finding a deeper sense of gratitude and purpose

Not long ago, I heard an elderly gentleman in a coffee shop comment to a younger friend, "Someday, when you're as old as I am, you will look back on your life and realize that everything is a miracle."

His words brought to my mind Albert Einstein's famous quote on the subject: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." Though it varies slightly from country to country, age 72 is the global median lifespan of most people on the planet - the statistical onset of "old age."

Not long ago, I turned 72. Am I worried? Not so much. True, for years I’ve walked slower and with greater care due to a pair of declining arthritic knees, the painful legacy of 50-year-old sports injuries and having probably walked too many golf courses for one duffer's life. But as you read this, I now have a superb new left knee with a right one awaiting its turn with a gifted surgeon later this year.

Talk about a miracle. Should have done it, as they say, years ago.

Despite commonplace physical challenges, and maybe because of them, I've never felt happier or more productive. This seems to be a common trait among active seniors who find the arrival of so-called old age to be a liberating force and an opportunity to experience life on a new and more meaningful level. A true case of attitude is altitude, as the saying goes.

One of the rarely mentioned gifts of being older is realizing what you no longer need or care about. Two years ago, I donated half of my home library, roughly 300 books, to a pair of charities. This year, I plan to give another 200 away, leaving me approximately a hundred books I cherish and will continue to read again and again until my light in this world permanently dims.

At my pragmatic wife's suggestion, I also went through my clothes closet and sent a large donkey cart's worth of fine clothing I haven't worn in more than two decades to a wonderful thrift shop owned by Freedom House, a local organization that provides drug rehabilitation programs to women. I hope whoever purchases the two fine custom suits, five Brooks Brothers blazers, nine crested wool golf sweaters, eight pairs of worsted-wool slacks and 19 golf shirts will enjoy them with my blessing.

Seriously people, who needs 21 solid white golf shirts anyway?

Moreover, with age I’ve found a deeper sense of gratitude and daily propose. I'd rather take a long walk with the dogs, work in the garden, study the stars, shop at the grocery store for my wife, meet my oldest chums for lunch, read a new book or watch seasonal birds at the feeder than waste five minutes watching sports of any sort on television.

This is no small change. Once upon a time, now fading fast into memory, I was the original sports-mad kid who played every game in every season and died a little death anytime my favorite golfers and favorite professional sports teams lost. A decade ago, as my passion for all sports mysteriously began to wane, I wondered if this was because I'd changed - or if the games themselves had? The answer is probably both. The sports teams I once worshipped, college and professional alike, were generally true home-town affairs where you could name (and root for) every player on the roster. This made the games far more personal and fun.

Fortunately, my longtime love affair with the game of golf — playing and writing about it, not watching it on TV — has only deepened with age even as my once splendid handicap slides merrily off into oblivion. Ask any elder golfer you know and he or she will tell you flat-out that the real magic of golf is the powerful bonds of friendship you make on the long and winding journey against unbeatable Old Man Par, the memories you store away for winter days to come. When they come, unexpected pars and rare birdies suddenly seem like gifts from the golf gods.

Today, conversely, almost all sports on television are shaped by staggering amounts of money flowing through their ranks. Not long ago, I heard about a local high school junior who recently signed with a major college program and pocketed $50,000 in NIL money. Add legalized sports betting to the state of our games and you may a fast lane to economic ruin for millions of fans who care less about the games than their potential payoffs.

In the end, I long ago decided, the real beauty of aging, is the light that comes from the soul. Reaching statistical old age brings with it freedom to do your own thing along with the opportunity to forge new paths and adventures. "A good old age can be the crown of all our life's experiences," wrote Helen Nearing, "the masterwork of a lifetime."

Considerably late in life, Nearing and her husband, Scott, became world famous advocates of simple living and pioneers of the organic farming movement in America. Helen lived to be 91. Scott, 100. As Helen points out in her lovely book, Light on Aging and Dying, Socrates learned to play the lyre and wrote his most famous poems in his dotage. Thomas Edison was still inventing at age 92; Michelangelo did some of his finest work past 80; and Frank Lloyd Wright, at age 90, was considered the most creative architect on the planet

Likewise, numerous poets and artists proved to be at their creative best in their good old age. Thomas Hardy, Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg did some of their best work past 80. Ditto artists Goya, Titian, Manet, Matisse and Chagall. Shortly before his death at 91, Picasso said, "Age only matters when one is aging. Now that I have arrived at a great age, I might just as well be 20." Almost every day, we read about some octogenarian who still runs marathons or a septuagenarian who just climbed Mount Everest - for a second time.

The list goes on and on. "I am so busy being old," wrote author and playwright Florida Scott-Maxwell in her 90s, "that I dread interruptions."

As for this relatively new septuagenarian, one who celebrates having new knees but no interest in running marathons or climbing mountains, I find the simple beauty of the natural world, a deepening spiritual life, a love of dogs and friends, plus an unquenchable passion for writing books reason enough to welcome the ripe old age of 72. For what it’s worth, I just signed off on my 17th and most ambitious book project yet, having traveled and written about the historic Great Wagon Road of my ancestors for almost seven years, scheduled to be published this July. What a joy it was.

The surprising truth is, I've always enjoyed being with older people. And now that I'm one of them, I have no intention of slowing down.

That's proof that everything really is a miracle.