An old man with a cane looked at me the other day and said, “It takes a lot of guts to get old.” He mentioned that he is ninety four years old. He was coming out of the imaging department of the hospital when I saw him. I reflected on this statement for a while. His words made me think about my own life and realize the changes, even at my age, at the jumping off side of fifty-two, that have taken place in my body and mind over the years.
Later that day, I saw my mother, sitting in a soft chair, going over her medication list, and preparing to get the liquids of chemotherapy pushed into her system. Across from her, a man about my age sat doing the same. I guess when they set up these chemotherapy stations they didn’t consider privacy as an issue. Perhaps they want us visitors to see what can happen to you in life, forcing gratitude, because one moment you are healthy and another moment you are given devastating news which can steal your health, maybe your life. Looking at this man, I definitely was grateful. It made me think back to something I recently read and continue to repeat, “If everyone in the world put their problems in the middle of a pile, you would gladly take yours back.”
A couple of weeks ago, I did a mental health talk for a crowd at a middle school. An old woman, Ninety-six years old, who read both of my novels, rolled in, being pushed by her daughter. I walked to her and knelt down, staring at her beautiful face, wisdom pouring from her eyes, and introduced myself. Her smile grew and she reached out with both hands and held my face. I put aside my nervousness to speak and had this moment with her, the highlight of my day. She thought it was important enough to come and see me tell my story that she left her home, placed herself in the wheelchair that now gave her mobility, and sat as a member of the audience before me. I was humbled. As I presented to the crowd, I looked over at her several times and she was wiping tears. Later, I found out that she was depressed from being confined to her wheelchair, something that was still new to her. Not long ago, even in her early nineties, she was mobile, moving around freely. Her husband had died a couple of years ago, and together, they had experienced a full life. A life of joy and suffering, and I did wonder if that is what she connected to most about my talk, which was my segment about happiness and suffering and how we cannot have one without the other? It is something that I have learned from a non-biological father, a mentor that I never met, Thich Nhat Hahn. Did this woman cry for the life that was now behind her? Is this what the old man in the hospital was talking about when he said, “It takes a lot of guts to get old?”
I believe most people want to live to be old. I know I do. However, in this country, the United States, we seem to isolate the old and place them in the corner of our society and want them to stay put. Many old people feel that they are forgotten about. So I wonder, do the rest of us, who have not turned old yet but are on a steam train towards it, wanting to reach old age, sit and reflect on how we want to be treated when we are at the end of a long life? I saw the difference in how the elderly are treated when I took my mother to lunch after her chemo appointment at an Indian restaurant. It was clear that the staff were treating her with the utmost respect from holding the door for her to their interactions. She was the elder and respect was given. It is something we have lost in many parts of our culture and society.
I am not old but there are things I cannot do that I once did. Over the years I have put my body through a lot, from my time in the military, to obstacle races, trail runs, climbing mountains, mountain biking, and the list goes on. I feel old injuries every day and they are memories that sit on my mind and shoulders, reminding me of what I was once capable of, physically and mentally. I sometimes have visions of being like a wounded tiger, walking solo, the spirit thriving to continue the hunt. Oh, I still challenge myself, and I always will, but it needs to be modified. I no longer trail race, but I hike and am more mindful in the woods. I no longer fly down steep hills, leaning back on my mountain bike so that I don’t fly over my handlebars, but I still ride well, feeling the thrill of a narrow, rocky trail. My injured shoulder does not allow me to do hundreds of push-ups in one workout. However, I no longer desire to either, a hundred will do. Even though some of my physicality has left me, I gained wisdom in return. I now hike trails and take in the moments where deer have run next to me, a wildflower blooms, and the birds chirp. I sit and meditate on a downed log and realize that I am still a warrior, probably stronger than I have ever been. I have turned to yoga and healing, moving my body in ways that I never did when I was younger, connecting my mind to my movements, and realizing that no amount of strength is beneficial without mobility.
I do sometimes see runners coming towards me on the trail and for a moment I wish that I could have that feeling again. However, we must adapt. We must adjust our lives as we grow older and find pleasure from the calmness that comes with losing a healthy portion of our egos. Becoming self-aware is a lifelong journey.
I do believe it takes guts to get old. Though, I think it takes more guts to live a life where you are true to yourself. It takes guts and resilience to experience life fully, not partially, and take it all in. Absorb the joy, the laughter, and the love. Swallow it all, the special moments, where you walked on mountain trails and foreign lands, and where you savored the best apple you ever tasted, and remember the times you made love to the person who made you feel like you were their world. It comes down to the simple things. Having the wisdom to enjoy and experience the simple pleasures in life is what I strive for. Being compassionate, empathetic, kind, courageous, and living with virtue is a lifelong quest.
In the end, it’s now how many steps you get out of your journey, but the journey itself.
