Looking Closely

Sixty-one years old and one heart attack under my belt. It fuels some interesting thinking. Ten years ago when I was still invincible (and my riding jacket was still bright yellow) I was already drawn toward thoughts of mortality as I photographed my life, the people in it, and some of the icons of finality. I’ve always been curious about what’s over the next hill.  Seems appropriate that curiosity would endure thoughts about longevity — how long can I ride?

I’m not sure if a person reaches a certain point where they begin doing longevity math but the equations aren’t simple and the factors considered aren’t consistent.  My grandfather had a heart attack in the 1950s when he was my age and then lived healthy and at home another 33 years.  My mother died just a few years older than I am now from a rare disease. And my father from lung cancer at 76 though he was a heavy smoker most of his life, worked in a coal mine before moving on to a mill that worked with molten steel — something that generates a lot of great stuff to breathe.

Mental measuring of longevity is, at best, a fool’s errand and merely another way to rob the present with fears of the future.  Still, it occupies my thoughts from time to time.

What may be more important is the waking dreams of life down the road.

How do I see myself in ten years?

Old Man and a Vespa

It slowly comes into focus, an image of an old man on a scooter, moving smoothly along a forest road, his hands gives a slight squeeze to the hand grips and a smile grows on his face.  In the distance a granddaughter waves, wondering what treat the old man brought this time.

When I ride I can feel the flight of spirit and I squeeze the grips to hold onto the world. At 61, I hope I can stay close to that feeling for a long time and my body stays nimble enough to manage the scooter and my mind sharp enough to stay safe. And be able to hang out with my granddaughter long enough to warn her about boys and to not let anyone stand in the way of her dreams.

That would be a good ride.

Like a Good Dog

How long can I ride? Only God knows. But like a good dog I’ll keep getting up every morning and make the most of what life has to offer.  Like Junior, who hopes he’ll get to chase some tennis balls and go for a walk, I’m going to hope I can keep riding. I’ll ride until I can’t.

That’s the view from 61.  I’ll check back in ten years and see how things are working out.

What’s your view of the road ahead?