Seventy

Last night I went to sleep as a man in my sixties. This morning I woke up as a man in my seventies. I know. I know. It’s just one day. But I am not a fan. I am somewhere between “70, that hulking milestone of mortality” and “seventy doesn’t say what I am, I say what seventy is”. Bruce Springsteen probably said it best “glory days, well they’ll pass you by, glory days, in the wink of a young girl’s eye”.

I have been doing some self-reflection on this milestone day. I’m going with, I say what seventy is. I say it is going to be smaller. I once had a job where I got to travel the country and the world. In my seventies, I want to explore Pennsylvania. I don’t care if I never fly again. I’m okay with that.

I most likely will never hike the Inca Trail to Machu Pichu (especially if I don’t fly!), but I did get to ride in a hot air balloon. How cool is that? I will never run another marathon, but I can proudly say that I did run one once. I’ll never be married again, but I’ve had my share of those! Like not flying, I’m okay with that too.

In my first seventy years (like there will be another seventy), I have been madly in love several times and I have had almost as many broken hearts. I have had the great pleasure of helping to raise three wonderful children and the sadness and despair of burying one of them. I have been all over the world, but the place and time that means the most to me is my American boyhood in Slatington.

By seventy, you should know yourself pretty well. I think I do. I know how I like to spend my time, reading and hiking and writing. Oh, and watching TikTok videos. I know who my friends are, and I know those who just used me. I know that I like people less and less as I get older. But I am happy with my own company most of the time. I know that kindness, empathy, and compassion are worth so much more than power, status, and wealth accumulation. I know that a passage of excellent writing excites me almost as much as the site of a naked woman did in my younger days. The key word there is almost!

I am in relatively good health and remain active. That leads people, when I say that I am turning seventy, to say “age is just a number”. I hate that phrase. Yes, it is a number, but it’s a frickin’ big number and the number we get is finite. 105 tops, and who makes it that far.

Let me end on a positive note. Won’t it be fun to compare this blogpost with the one I write at 80, and 90!? Happy Birthday to me, this man in his seventies! And to all of you, treasure every single day. They pass you by, in the wink of a young girl’s eye.