What Being Old Feels Like

I passed the point of "getting older" and I'm heading into "being oldest."

To put it bluntly, being old feels like being a deciduous tree in a Midwestern late fall. Memories, physical and mental skills, and all sorts of things we take for granted all our lives are constantly falling off and away, like leaves as the weather turns cold. You get up, in the morning, wondering what new thing won’t work or will hurt so badly that you decide not to use that body part, if possible.

Five years ago, in late 2020, I sold the last of my two favorite motorcycles. I, honestly, never believed I would live long enough to no longer be a motorcyclist. For at least 25 years my “cure” for what I thought old age would be like had been “buy a faster motorcycle.” A little over a year later, I tried again with a newer, smaller motorcycle, but it didn’t take and, at 75, I had too many physical problems to be competent on a motorcycle any longer. Friends, and Ms. Day, were convinced that I quit because I “didn’t feel safe” on a motorcycle, but clinging to safety is never a rational reason to be a motorcyclist. I’ve never been a great rider, but I worked hard to be a competent one and between MG and related eyesight problems, carpal tunnel in both wrists, and rapidly declining upper body strength, I felt I had past the point of no return, competency-wise. So, I sold the last bike, a lifetime’s assortment of riding gear, tools, and equipment and called it quits.

In the last couple of years, I’ve given up a lot of things that I’d assumed I’d be doing till I croaked. Physically and mentally, a lot of things just aren’t possible to do, well or at all, now and I don’t have much patience for doing those things badly.

Oddly, gratitude is one of the “feelings” that, for me, is coming with being old. And regardless of whatever Republican “70 is the new 50” bullshit you’ve been fed, 77 is fuckin’ old. Three-quarters of a century old. Three-to-four generations old. 12 recessions (most with weak “recoveries”), seven wars and almost countless military altercations, we’ve gone from doubling human knowledge every twenty years to every twelve months, from tube technology and analog computers to LSI and AI, $0.26/gallon gas to a yoyo that peaked at almost $10 in 1973 to an average of $2.917 today, from new car average cost of $1,434 to $48,841 today, and from being a country that was proud of what passed for a marginal democracy to one that is very likely to descend into fascism before falling apart altogether at any moment. In spite of all that, I am incredibly grateful for the life I’ve led, for the family and friends I have had and the ones I have today, and for the economic and social situation I am in for my last years.

Maybe the best thing that has happened to me in the past dozen years was the COVID lockdown. For a couple of years before that, I was regularly part of a group of people who got together on Saturdays at Tree Strings Music for jam sessions. COVID ended that and Stu Anderson and I wanted to keep something along that line going. So, we researched online music websites and software. After lots of disappointing results, we stumbled onto JamKazam and, somehow, managed to convince two other people (sometimes three) to join us. [The Downstream Consequences “discography” can be found in this link.] Not all of the music there is from my online group, but none of it would be there without them. From February 2020 to this moment, we (and I) have recorded 40 cover songs and 19 originals. You can read the “liner notes” on this link and learn something about the history of the recordings and the original songs.

A dozen years ago, after practically destroying my hands, aggravating arthritis severely, while rebuilding the underground garage in our home, I thought I would either have to suffer with playing music using what was left or lose it forever. (“Use it or lose it.”) Instead, playing as often as I have since 2020 has produced some of the best music of my life. I know, like everything else, I will lose the ability to sing and play at a level that satisfies me, someday. But, for now, I’m trying to play every day, to steadily improve (or not fall backwards), and to enjoy every minute of it all. That is the good part of what being old feels like.