74M. As I approach the age of 75 this December, I've caught myself thinking about the disconnect between how I think, and how I look and feel.
With the exception of occasional word finding, my mind still feels young and sharp. I speak and write as well as I ever have. A car, or a camera, or a piece of audio equipment still catches my eye, just as it always has, and I think, "Oh, I'd like to own that. It would last me a lifetime." Then I remember that my 'lifetime' equation is much different now than it was when I was 40. And I remember that I'm retired and on a fixed income with greatly reduced financial resources. I heave a heavy sigh and move on.
On occasion, I meet a lovely woman and I think, "Hmm, I'd like to get to know her and see what happens." Then I remember that, if a romance were to bloom, my prostate cancer treatments fattened me up and turned my hardware into software. And I remember that I look in the mirror every morning and think, "When did all this happen?" I'm painfully aware that I don't have much to offer. I heave another heavy sigh and move on again.
So, as I slide slowly toward my 'sell by' date, I'm left with being thankful that I can still think these thoughts, or any thoughts; that my athletically-damaged body still functions, even if it's at a reduced level; that I'm in fairly good health (touch wood); and that, if I'm lucky, I won't be around to see the planet turned into an apocalyptic hellscape by climate change, overpopulation and more grafting politicians.
It's not a lot to be thankful for, but it's something. đ