Amazingly, it’s 2025. A few months into this year will find me half-way through my eighties. And I didn’t get here alone. Even at this advanced age, some of my cherished friends entered the world the same year I did—too early to be baby boomers, but not by much.
When we began our journey, the road ahead of us was wide and seemingly endless. Some roads seemed straight ahead and obvious, while others veered off in one direction or another. Some were popular and beckoning. Others were winding and mysterious, with their own kind of appeal. Some roads were well lighted, others deep in shadow. Many contained potholes and barriers that needed to be dealt with. Some of us speak of difficult journeys; some admit to having it easy. Some went with the traffic, others against it. Some of us gladly left familiar behind, while others stuck around. Most of us were accompanied by companions—some for a little while, others for a very long time.
Now, in our eighty-fifth year, our roads are narrowing. We’ve been joined by people we care about—some related to us and some not. If we’re lucky, some of our friends are younger than we are, but some are our age. A few of us have loved ones who are infirm and need our help. Some of us need help ourselves. We’ve looked back at our individual journeys, and we’ve made peace with the choices we made. Some of those choices offered unexpected rewards, and memories of them bring smiles to our aging faces. Some we’ve come to accept as “not our best moments,” but we’re very far past blame and regret by now.
We’re aware that the vessel that brought us on our journey does not define us. The vessel is mostly still upright, and we’re grateful for that, but it’s not always at its best, and it doesn’t exactly jibe with our concept of ourselves. Some of our bodies seem to have been genetically destined and/or environmentally influenced to be in better working order than others. We compare notes on what still works and what doesn’t. For all of us, there are ailments, conditions, frailties, and sometimes injuries. Most of us are shocked, still, by mirrors. We make old-person noises and chide ourselves. We don’t hurry anymore. We fear falls, mostly because we’re not sure we’ll be able to get back up. Sadly, those fears are a reminder about that narrowing road.
But here’s the thing. We’re okay. Our core values are intact. We know ourselves to be fair-minded and compassionate toward others—all others. We know the difference between right and wrong. We know cruelty when we see it, as well as bombast, ugliness, and finger-pointing. We can tell the difference between the truth and lies. We know what we stand for and what we stand against. We’ve become who we are because of the people we encountered, the experiences we had, and the choices we made as we journeyed down our road.
The one that’s irrevocably narrowing.