Look forward to RIP well before 6 feet under
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2023/05/22/magazine/peter-attia-interview.html
Octogenarian
New York
What I like about being near 90 in NYC is taking part in the mid-morning, mid-afternoon parade of the aged in parks, on the sidewalks, in buses, when youngsters are the minority. We dodder, stumble, slowly amble, bent, crippled, using canes and strollers and wheelchairs and caring aides to do errands, kill time, muse on the weather or just past time without hustle and bustle of ambition, career, school, competition, vainglory.
With plenty of distance among us we can feel pretty chipper at not being harried by schedules, and appointments, and insults, and abuses of making a killing at work, or publishing a boring memoir, or shopping for urgent clothing, dining, entertainment, or worst, political campaigns and threats of war, armgeddon, asterorids, end of humanity, more pharmas, sleeplessness of overwork and lost causes.
Downside of these privileges is the transparency of our existences to the folks who think being young and healthy and beautiful and smart is the cat's whiskers. We are zeroed out of signficance except as consumers of medicine and anti-aging products. Feh, to that false, verily flat earth ignorance of the under 80, 70, 60, 50 years old still so inexperienced with aging they know not of what they cannot see, feel, dream, remember, imagine, expect, whistle tunes of pleasure too, our amply seasoned cracking bones and throbbing sinews keeping time in synchrony.
Hint, look forward to RIP well before 6 feet under.