Oh, my gosh! I’m 76 now.
But I don’t consider myself “old.” The way I think about myself, I’m still young at heart. I still have the energy to move forward in life, and I try not to let the challenges that come my way stop me.
But the other day, something happened that made me pause.
My eldest daughter was driving my wife and me to the hospital for my colonoscopy when, quite casually, she mentioned she was considering retiring from her job as an RN there.
Retiring?
That one word gave me a little jolt.
For the first time, I thought, maybe, just maybe, matanda na pala ako.
It was different from simply being called a senior. “Senior” sounds like a classification—a number, a stage in life. But “old” somehow feels more personal. It makes you look at yourself differently.
And suddenly, I began noticing things I had conveniently ignored.
Even the way I walk has changed. My steps have become a little wobbly, and perhaps I should be using a cane to steady myself. But I’ve resisted. Somehow, I’ve been afraid that carrying a cane would make me look old.
Now I wonder if that is simply a form of self-denial.
Maybe I have been telling myself for too long, Hindi pa ako matanda.
Just last week, for example, 48 bottles of water arrived in four plastic cases that we had ordered. I instinctively lifted one case and placed it on top of the others.
At the time, I thought, Kaya ko pa ito.
And I did.
But the following day, I felt a little pain in my back. Still, it never occurred to me that my body might simply be reminding me that I am no longer as young as I think I am.
Only after my daughter mentioned retirement did I begin connecting the dots.
Maybe that back pain had something to do with lifting that heavy case of bottled water.
Still, even in my senior years, I have never stopped being positive.
I continue to dream. I still have things I want to accomplish, books I want to read, and countless topics I want to write about. More importantly, I remain deeply occupied with my spiritual needs and my relationship with Jehovah.
I know I’m not getting any younger.
But I’m not over the hill either.
These days, I try to keep myself physically active by walking around the neighbourhood. I walk for a while, stop occasionally to catch my breath, and then continue until I reach Tim Hortons for a cup of coffee and, sometimes, a donut.
That has become one of my little pleasures.
I have always believed that getting old is, to some extent, a matter of how we think. But as I look around me, reality keeps reminding me that time waits for no one.
My friends are retiring or have already retired. Some of my siblings have retired. Even some of the doctors here in Canada who used to see me for my yearly checkups have already retired.
I sometimes look for the nurses who cared for me when I was very sick several years ago, but I can no longer find them.
Maybe they have retired, too.
And that’s when it hits me: Time has moved on.
And so have I.
Despite my physical limitations, I have no regrets.
I’ve lived a joyful life. I’ve changed along the way. I have mellowed, become wiser, and learned from the many experiences life has given me.
Looking back, I can honestly say that I have lived life in a full circle.
I’ve been there. I’ve done that.
What matters now is simply to live—to stay alive, to appreciate each day, and to make whatever time remains meaningful.
Perhaps getting older is not really about counting the years we have lived.
Perhaps it is about learning how to make the years we have left count.
C’est la vie, my friends!
