I saw a meme the other day with a bit of geriatric wisdom: At 70, your body tells your brain about things it’s not gonna do anymore. Or something like that.
I have to say that there’s truth in this, though it’s also true what people say about still feeling little different than when you were twenty, even as your body is trying to tell you otherwise.
It’s an interesting dynamic. The joints are a bit creaky, the knees don’t bend as readily as they once did, and I do run like an old man now. I have a bit of brain fog on occasion but still have the same sense of wonder and curiosity about certain things, the same sense of humor and manner of speaking. I‘m reading more than I ever have, though I have to reread the occasional passage because I start daydreaming or am distracted by something.
I have reached a point where there is less that impresses me, and it doesn’t take much for the bullshit meter to peg anymore. I’ve never been a driven person, so any vestige of ambition is directed at buying the next tool for the shop, or keeping the yard looking trimmed and presentable.
Such lofty and altruistic aspirations.
In contrast to those days when I might have been considered community-minded and sociable, I am more intent on and selective in picking my interactions. I prefer to be more of a hermit now, am comfortable in that skin, which, I believe, is probably who I’ve been all along. The twenty-six years in the ministry were an aberration of sorts, a thousand miles from the nearest comfort zone. They were a real stretch for me, to put it mildly.
3 Cents' 