I’m Good at Being Old

I am old. To be exact, I am sixty-nine years old. I am not sure precisely when I got old, but I didn’t fight it. Being old fits me better than any other stage of life.

When I was studying gerontology, we were all keen to identify stages of adult development, much as Piaget identified stages of cognitive development in children. I can’t say we were successful, but I know from my personal experience that being old is different, and, for the most part, I like it.

I wasn’t good at the early and middle stages of life. I got along, but I was an unremarkable high school and college student. I don’t look back fondly on my student days and have never thought attending a class reunion would be a pleasant experience. I have acquaintances that were great young people. Their high school and college days were their halcyon days. Others I know went into the military when they were young and think of those days as the best of times.

I wasn’t much good at middle age either. I tried my best to cultivate the inner force that drives middle-aged men to buy homes, raise children, start businesses, and conquer the world, but I wasn’t happy about it. I managed to do all of those things except conquering the world, but I also nurtured my youthful love of drinking into full-blown alcoholism and brought the entire structure down upon my head. They were not happy years. I was…