BABY BOOMER BABBLE
The Zen of
Growing Older
We baby
boomers are getting older. It somehow just seems to happen. One day you’re
hitting a homer for your high school baseball team, the next you’re wondering
whether you can get out of bed.
It’s funny,
but in a lot of ways, I don’t feel old. I suppose by today’s standards, I’m
not. Sixty-one. They say it’s the new fifty. I’m not so sure.
I still
like my music loud and I can tolerate most anything. My only problem is, I
can’t make out most of the lyrics nowadays. I don’t know if it’s my ears or the
younger generations propensity for mumbling. Whichever, I still like my music,
even some rap and hip hop.
I can still
shoot a basketball pretty well, although I can’t make many trips up and down
the court. I gave up softball about ten years ago. I could probably still hit
okey, but throwing would be difficult, for medical reasons.
I don’t
think my thinking has turned old, but I’m probably a bit bias. Sometimes I get
the feeling I’m slipping into geezerdom. I hear myself complaining about the
younger generations at times, but I think rather than disappointed, I’m
envious. Then again, if I had the chance, I don’t think I would want to be
younger again. Once was enough.
My main
issue with growing old is medical. There are times, if it’s not one thing, it’s
another. With our modern medical technology, they find everything. At times, I long for the old days when
it was “take two aspirins, and sleep it off.” You either got better or died.
One good
old age benefit coming up for me is social security. This is a socialist
program most old people, many readily against socialism, partake of. Being kind
of semi-retired already, I’ll take my benefit at age sixty-two. I don’t really
think a whole lot about it. I’m viewing it as getting a bit even with Uncle
Sam.
I will say,
the older I get, the more I enjoy simple things, like waking up in the morning.
There is a certain pleasure in opening your eyes and seeing the familiar. I
like sitting on the front porch swing and watching the traffic go by, usually
ten miles per hour over the limit. The ambulance going by gives me the simple
pleasure of knowing that I’m not in it. Pulling weeds, feeding the fish in my
pond, having a beer with a friend, doing some writing on the back deck, playing
a little golf, watching some senseless show on TV. The little things get more
enjoyable, probably because there are fewer big things. Or at least that’s what
you hope.
I don’t
think in terms of retirement. I think more that now I can do what I want. No
more butt kissing. If I want to be a greeter at Wal-Mart, I can do that. Or
volunteer. Or go back to school. Or find a part-time or full-time job that I
like, but don’t necessarily need. That’s freedom. You don’t like the boss, tell
him to kiss it. I don’t think there is a retirement anymore. Now it’s a life
style adjustment.
Growing
older isn’t all that bad, although I’m not so sure it’s all that good. It is
what it is. It just is. Or isn’t.