When I was a kid, I never imagined myself being 8o years old. That sounded so old, beyond my imagination. But here I am.
There’s a lot to think about when a guy turns 80. You can look back over eight decades. That’s a whole bunch of memories, good and bad. And you can look forward—a little.
The life expectancy for an American male is 78, and I’m now well past that. When I was 18, I had a whole life to look forward to and a lot of ideas, dreams, and plans. Now it makes sense to have fewer plans, like a year-by-year plan, maybe even a month-by-month plan.
In the last month I’ve lost three good friends, all amazing women—Alicia Dicochea, Marge Giannone and Sherry Pearson. Each death hit me hard, but Sherry’s hit me the hardest. Alicia and Marge lived well into their 90s. Sherry, however, at 78 was younger than I am. It didn’t seem fair that she should die so young.
At 80 I have a lot of memories and almost all of them are positive. In my mind I frequently go back in time—10, 20, 60 years. As I go back in time, I feel young again. Then my body reminds me I’m not.
At 80 I move more slowly, caused in part by one knee that’s not as good as it used to be. When I watch my 10-year-old grandson Kannon zip around the house at turbo speed, I can only vaguely remember when I could move half that fast. Sometimes I think about all the things I used to do but can’t anymore–like playing tennis or jogging.
When I start feeling sorry for myself, however, I remember the adage I heard as a kid: “Life begins at 80,” probably from a television show with that name in the 1950s. As a child around 9 years old, it sounded quite strange to me.
Now it doesn’t sound so strange. But I’d rather put it, “Life continues at 80.” Where it goes from here is anybody’s guess.
Every so often I think back to a good friend of mine for many years, Los Banos resident Tomar Mason. She lived to be 99; I had lively conversations with her until the day she died. That’s a good model for me.
I am so intrigued by the phrase “Life begins at 80” that I bought a small book by that title written by a woman named Virginia Beck.
It turns out that Virginia, unlike this columnist, BEGAN writing columns at the age of 80. As an octogenarian, she wrote her first column for a smalltown newspaper in Florida. Soon after she was writing columns for the newspaper in her old hometown of Blair, Nebraska.
Well maybe I still have a few more columns in me. That’s one incentive to look forward.
Another incentive is anticipating, along with my wife Sandy, our grandchildren and now great-grandchildren having new experiences and accomplishments.
Looking forward is something I know I should do, but I can’t help looking back, including thinking of all the good things that have happened in my life and the many kind and generous people who have supported and encouraged me
The key word that emerges for me is “gratitude,” as it did for Dr. Oliver Sacks –a physician, professor of neurology and author — who used that at the title of the book of essays he wrote at age 81, when he looked back at his life. My own gratitude is primarily for people—first of all my family, but also teachers, colleagues and friends of mine over eight decades.
I realize, too, that at age 80 I’m closer to my death than to my birth. But that doesn’t bother me, because I’m blessed to have received the gift of faith, and I expect the next life to be even better than the present.
I also am reminded of a prayer written by Father Henri Nouwen that resonates with me: “Lord, I do not know where you will lead me. I do not know where I will be two, five or ten years from now. I do not know the road ahead of me, but I know now that you are with me to guide me and that, wherever you lead me, you will bring me closer to my true home.”
John Spevak’s email address is john.spevak@gmail.com
