Thoughts I dare not ponder

 

As I've always said, I decided in high school that my goal in life was to retire. And in retirement I wanted to read, write, and travel. After I retired, that shifted to read, travel, and exercise.

But lately, I've begun to think that the "why" is no longer self-evident. 

To what end? To what purpose? What's the point?

Yes, of course, increasing thoughts of mortality are part of this. So I quickly labeled these "thoughts I dare not ponder".

About those retirement activities:

 - Reading 

I have always been a print media junkie (including online print). 

I love news, information, learning. I'm even rather competive about it. (See here.) 

There are still tons of books on my reading list, and I still add more, but now I sometimes wonder why.

It's no longer self-evident. 

Similarly, I check the news repeatedly. But what if I stopped?

 - Travel

There are tons of places I've never been, but I've hit the top places on my list. (See here.)

TSA, airlines, and my aging body make the journeys (not the destinations) increasingly unpleasant.

And to what end?

 - Exercise

In my first year of retirement, I lost more than 50 pounds, and I kept it off for years, but lately, I've began to put some back on. 

Arthritis slows me down and makes hills and long walks ever more difficult. 

Diabetes is ever-present. 

Dietary self-restraint in the face of mortality: Why?

Buddha's "Five Remembrances"

I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way I can escape growing old.

I am of the nature to get sick. There is no way I can escape getting sick.

I am of the nature to die. There is no way I can escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love will change. There is no way I can escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.

My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

[Seen in Katy Butler's The Art of Dying Well. 

Also all over the net; see here, for example.]

Aging

Another sign of aging. 

Today's LATimes has a feature story on Luis Zapata. In the opening, it mentions that he died earlier this month. 

As I see that, it just adds to the losses evoked by the story. As I've written previously, Kieran knew Zapata and, at my request, got him to autograph a book for Victor, who loaned the book and it never came back. Any mention of Zapata brings Kieran to mind. He died many years ago. 

So, even before getting very far into the story, I'm feeling the loss of Kieran, of Zapata, and of the autographed book. 

And I realize that this is just another sign of aging. More and more things will inevitably remind me of people and things now gone.

Or, as Julia Wick writes in the LATimes about a supercentenarian, "To defy death is to endure a long onslaught of loss."

Or, as Lawrence Wright writes in The New Yorker about Austin, "If you live long enough in a place, it becomes haunted by ghosts: memories of events and friends long gone still inhabit spaces that have been levelled and covered over by the unstoppable newness. It’s a form of double vision: you see things that are no longer there."

Aging

Aging has never much concerned me. Until now.

I turn 70 in October. That frightens me. It's the first time any specific age has bothered me. It sounds old. It feels like death is right around the corner.

Because Dad died too young and because I have no older brother, I have had no men in their seventies to watch closely.

It doesn't help that I'm also slowing down. I still walk a lot, but I'm slower now.