Monday, March 26, 2018

Not down for the count (yet)

I was watching a program on Facebook TV yesterday about the homeless epidemic. The commentator said the average life expectancy of someone living on the streets was 58 versus 78 for a non-homeless person. And although I was shocked at how short a person's life was who was homeless, I was also a bit taken back that in theory I only have another 18 years to live.

My father died from stomach cancer when he was 76 years old. My mother died when she was 87 years old. So if I live to an average of their ages I would be about 82. That still only gives me another 22 years. But if I have to work until I'm say, 68 years, that would only leave about 14 years to enjoy retirement.  And who knows what my health will be like.

Doesn't seem quite fair, because if I work that long I will have been working for 44 years.

Mortality sucks. I know that everyone eventually dies, but when you start to quantify it into the number of years you have left, it becomes too real. And all of the cliches in the world about enjoying your life sink in.

Monday, March 19, 2018

On turning 60

My 60th birthday is just a few days away and although I am risking alienating my millennial followers by revealing my advanced age, I do so as a chronicler of my own life.

I looked back at a post I made when I turned 50. I was more focused on having a 17-month old toddler in the house and a new baby arriving later in the year.  And looking back, turning 50 didn't have the same feeling of mortality closing in on me as 60.

The thing is, no one can truly prepare you for your own aging. When you are young, you can't really fathom it. I remember being a teenager and calculating that I'd be 42 when the Millennium happened and thought that would be so old. I also assumed I would be married and have a family. Little did I know that I wouldn't marry until I was 47 and would have a young family when I was headed into middle age.