Getting older

 

We Are Getting Older, Yet We Are Nowhere Near Done

Getting older is inevitable. Deciding that life is over is another matter.

I wake up at 4.45 most mornings. I still have to go to work, so I can't claim it is some great exercise in discipline. But I like that time of the morning. The house is quiet, nobody wants anything from me, and my mind seems to work better before the day starts. Quite often, I do some of my best writing then.

I have spent my entire working life in education, surrounded by young people. That probably explains why I have never felt particularly old. When you spend years listening to young people talk about their ambitions, worries, music, technology and plans for the future, you cannot help remaining interested in what is going on around you.

I still work full-time. I go to the gym, travel, write, speak and drive. I love music and podcasts, and enjoy a good humorous TV series or movie. I meet friends, make plans and am working towards publishing my books.

So retirement, it seems, has somehow missed my address.

The grandchildren help too. They keep me connected to a world that changes faster than I can sometimes keep up with. Then there is Chanel, my cat, who has decided that my main responsibilities are feeding her and opening doors. She has never actually said thank you.

And my wife has been putting up with me all these years. I regard that as a considerable achievement. She may not.

I am also completely useless at anything involving carpentry, electrical work or mechanics. I can stand beside someone doing the job and look concerned. I can even offer an opinion. Actually fixing anything is beyond me.

But I have been thinking about something more serious.

When I look at people my age, I see two very different attitudes towards getting older.

Some continue to make plans. They travel, exercise, work, meet friends, read, write, listen to music and remain curious. They may complain about their knees, their backs or the price of everything, but they are still interested in life.

Others seem to have decided that their turn is over.

“It is time for the young now.”

“I've done my bit.”

“There isn't much left.”

I understand that attitude. Getting older brings losses and disappointments. Friends disappear from our lives. Health can become an issue. Some people find themselves lonely. And there are days when getting out of bed feels like a much bigger achievement than it used to.

But I think there is a danger in deciding that the best part of life is behind us.

Once we stop expecting anything from life, we can gradually stop looking for anything. We make fewer plans, go out less and become less curious. The world can slowly become smaller, and with it can come loneliness, frustration and a loss of interest in the things that once gave us pleasure.

I don't judge anyone for that. We all have difficult periods. But I do believe that attitude matters.

I am not a holy Joe. I don't pretend to have all the answers. But I do believe, and I do pray. It helps me look ahead rather than spend too much time looking backwards.

I don't often ask myself, “How old am I?”

The question I find more interesting is, “What do I still want to do?”

And there is quite a list.

There are places I want to visit, books I want to publish, music I want to hear, roads I want to drive, people I want to meet and grandchildren I want to spoil.

Maybe that is all the advice I would offer: keep something ahead of you. It doesn't have to be a world trip or a major achievement. It could be dinner with friends, a book you want to read, a new place you want to see, a morning at the gym or simply a good conversation.

Stay curious. Keep laughing. Keep meeting people. And don't be embarrassed to enjoy yourself.

I have spent a lifetime around young people, and perhaps they have taught me something without ever intending to: being young is not the only way to be enthusiastic about life.

We are getting older. There is no point pretending otherwise. But I still have plenty I want to do, and I see no reason to stop simply because the calendar keeps moving.

Tomorrow morning, I'll probably wake up at 4.45, make my own tea because I am fussy about it, and sit down to write. There will be books to work on, places to visit, music to listen to, people to meet and, somewhere along the way, a grandchild demanding something.

And there will probably be Chanel, sitting by the door, waiting for me to do what she expects me to do.

I suppose growing older is inevitable. Growing bored with life is optional.