Well, I saw an orthopedic specialist last week and it's official: my rotator cuff muscles are shot and I'm giving up my ambitions to become a Major League pitcher. I tell you, this growing older business comes at a cost and you have be nimble to keep up.
In the last couple years I've been focusing more on the challenges of aging, and adapting to a changing range of options. Many of the things I used to enjoy doing when younger are no longer possible, and I've had to reconfigure expectations to bring them into alignment with diminished capacities.
Part of this is giving up being John Wayne. These days I let my partner shovel the snow, mow the lawn, and schlep the heavy suitcases upstairs—because she's stronger than I am. Fortunately, there is still plenty I can do, and derive pleasure from, so I dwell there, instead of in the land of lament.
For example, I can still cook and get things done in the kitchen (even though I rely on a step stool these days to access the higher shelves), which is something I've always enjoyed and now have more time to indulge. While I no longer do concrete work, I took pleasure in repairing a wooden high chair this afternoon in anticipation of a visit next week from Susan's daughter (Britta) and eldest grandson, 4-year-old Nico.
And, knock on lignin, I still enjoy full cognitive capacity, which includes writing, teaching, facilitating, and playing duplicate bridge. I read voraciously (and eclectically), and Susan and I plot out vacations to exotic places, to spice up our days.
(During a family reunion last month, I reconnected with a nephew who works for the State Dept and has just begun a three-year assignment in Melbourne, Australia. This inspired my daughter (Jo) and me to cook up a month-long once-in-a-lifetime trip to Oceania in December 2024—partners included—taking advantage of having family in country. We've already put down a deposit on a steeply discounted 10-day cruise from Sydney to New Zealand as part of the itinerary. We're pretty stoked. Jo is a terrier when it comes to organizing and sniffing out bargains, so mostly I just stand back and send in money when she tells me to. After a lifetime of handling my own logistics, which I still do for solo travel, it's a pleasure to turn it over to my competent daughter. I've always wondered what it would be like to fly halfway around the world—now it looks like I'll get to find out.)
Though I have two flavors of cancer (multiple myeloma and prostate), both of which my oncologist has been clever enough to manage for me with minimal disruption of my everyday life (my pill regimen contains more syllables than you can imagine), it's a wondrous life, and I wouldn't miss it for anything.
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