I recently congratulated a friend on his 75th birthday, a few months late but I’m 75. Denis and I had attended Ranger Academy together becoming California State Park Rangers, police officers. We were 57 at the time. In turning 75 I’ve thought about the age and tell myself, 75 is just plain old. It’s not the new 50 or anything close, it’s just old. Denis’ perspective is that 80 is really old. He stopped for a moment, he was thinking, and then said, "75 is pretty close to 80."
I’ve been retired nearly 11 years now. In my 20s, I dropped out of college, served 4 years in the Air Force, got married, had three children, finished college, started a banking career, and bought a home, all in less than 11 years.
In the past 11 years, I’ve retired from working at all. I got married and we’ve had a child. We’ve moved four times and finally bought a house. I wrote a first draft of a memoir that takes me up to retirement, been a board member and then president of the Berkeley Unitarian Universalist congregation, been a volunteer teacher’s aid in transitional kindergarten and now kindergarten, and most importantly raised my 1 year old daughter to 12 years old.
Two sisters have passed away, one at 74 and more recently my eldest sister at 81. I have a third sister, younger, who in the 60s dropped out and I haven’t seen since. A few years ago I heard she’s doing OK in Hawaii. At 72 she’s probably retired too.
My friend and I agreed our retirement checks feel like free money, even though we paid social security taxes, put aside the savings, and earned the retirement, I get money and I don’t work. I find my net worth and my income put in the 80 percentile. I may not be as comfortable materially here in coastal urban California as I might be in Indiana or Ohio, but I am certainly not poor.
Twelve years ago I had a heart attack, major blockages repaired, but a minor attack. My best friend in high school had a heart attack about the same time and died. I’ve had minor aches and pains, inflammations, infections and that sort of thing, but for the most part I’m in good health. I have diverticulitis, stenosis, hypertension, high blood sugar and I’m overweight. 39 years ago I dealt with the alcoholism and stopped drinking. Up through my sixties I was still physically active, but now at 75 not so much. Hikes are out, I don’t run and if I walk too far my hips and my feet hurt like hell. BUT, I bicycle. I ride 30 minutes to an hour nearly every day.
It’s been a good marker for my aging. I used to ride 10 miles or an hour most days. Now it’s more often 40 minutes and 5 miles. Still at it, but slower.
And sometimes I go in a room and ask myself, why did I come here. I know, it happens to everybody, but at my age it happens more frequently. My mind isn’t untethered yet, I think I still have a long ways to go but my moorings are beginning to feel a little loose.
So I was chatting with some parents at my daughter’s school, people in their 40s and 50s and revealed that I was 75. Oh no, they said. And I told them, yeah, 75 is the new 74. I’m OK, but I’m old.
