Old age is an interesting state of mind. Think back to when you were 12 and wanted to be 13, to be a”teenager”.

Remember being 15 and longing for 16 and a driver’s license?

And (depending on your state) longing for 19 and the ability to drink?

And longing to be 21, just to be 21. Sidebar: I hated turning 20, as it was the end of all teenage life.

To my generation, being 30 was being old and over the hill.

And 40? One of the best ages, ever, until you realize its halfway to…The End. You’re going downhill, now.

Nothing special about 50 or 60 for me, though others were (and still are) fascinated with the idea of parties celebrating each age. Without revealing too much, I was assaulted at both these ages with the “need” for a party. From someone who said they loved me. Oy.

At 65, the financial and health issues ignored for years are brought into sharp focus by the urgency of Medicare, Retirement, and managing money to make it last the rest of your life, however long (or short) the rest might be.

Through all these years I never remember being impressed with the years the ages represented. But to even have the ability to age has to be celebrated. As a young child I escaped diseases like smallpox, polio, and rheumatic fever. The teen years were never scarred by accidents, whether by car, by adventure, or by romance. And sheer lottery luck kept me out of global conflicts that ended the lives of some classmates.

Oddly, and Thank God, life has been a relatively smooth sail from the 30’s to the 60’s.

Very seldom in all these years did the notion of being old ever infect itself into the life I led. Nor did it affect the enjoyment each year of life gave to me. I was never older, often better, and seldom mourned the passage of the years.

Now…

When I started this piece, I really did have a point to make. Damned if I can remember it, now.

Oh, got it: age 70. As it approaches, it brings a darkening cloud: the average life expectancy. As of this writing, that is 78.79 years for the average, American male. With all the other milestone ages in the rear view mirror, I hope the last one does not come in 8.79 years.

But even if it doesn’t, the remaining years will not be the same as those years passed. The potential calamity of old age has finally settled inside my head, and like most people in my circle, we hope nothing changes until our last 8.79 years are passed.

PS One piece of advice: do not try to explain aging to a young person. Ever.