On Growing Old(er).

(NOTE:  I usually write my postings of a length approximating a normal visit to the bathroom. Perfect bathroom reading is my goal for this unassuming little blog.  This one?  Let's just pretend you're constipated.) 

There comes a time when everyone realizes that there's more of their life in the rearview mirror than out the front windshield.

When you're young, or even young-ish, out to maybe 50 years old, you never consider your own mortality.  You believe you're immortal.  You think you can do the dummmest s*it and get away with it.  Nothing will bring you down.  You'll pull muscles doing stuff you shouldn't be doing (right Andy?), without a second thought.  Nothing will hamper your continued path to greatness.  Or even average-ness.  Because you're impervious.  You think, "out of sight, out of mind."  Like Scarlet from "Gone With the Wind," "Not gonna' think about that today.  I might think about it tomorrow, but not today."

And then one day you realize you're old.  You can no longer run as fast, or jump as high, or drive as well, or see as far or as clearly.  You no longer think in terms of what you're going to do when your grow up.  Because you're already grown up.  

You're like, waaay past grown up!  

And then you start accumulating ailments.  Your back begins to hurt when you exert yourself.  Your prostate takes charge of your pee breaks.  Your eyesight goes from 20-20 to 20-50.  Your hairline begins to recede, and then your hair falls out.  You develop a paunch.  You need a larger pair of pants.  You know, the ones with the stretchy belt.  You can spell neuropathy.  You actually watch intently those ads for ED medicines.  You can no longer clip your own toenails.  In short, you're a mere shadow of your former self.  Your get up and go has got up and went.  Your high school track and football records are a dim memory.  And those high school friends have begun to die like flies.  And you're wondering if you're possibly next.

When you shave you choose not to see your entire face.  Just the small area you're shaving.  Sort of like not wishing to be a witness to the results of time and gravity.  That's why you're shocked when you see a picture or video of yourself.  "That isn't me, is it?"  

Yes, yes it is...

I passed that milestone some years ago.  And I met it with grace.  In fact, I'm wondering why we're not all provided with one of those purple stamps on a buttcheek with a, "Use By _____."  Like a side of beef in an abbatoir.  (That's "slauterhouse" for those who don't read dictionaries like crime novels.)  I used to worry about it.  Now I just laugh about it.  Because it's truly funny if you come to know you're as deflated as an 8-day old happy birthday balloon.

I played pool professionally.  I was at one time ranked among America's top 50 by "Pool and Billards Magazine."  I toured with Minnesota Fats during the summer of 1963.  I won both the Iowa and the Nebraska State Billiards Championship.  In short, I did very little else besides play pool.  All day, every day.  When I really should have been attending class and actually studying, BTW.  My father and I co-owned "Cass's Cue Club," a truly fine billiards establishment.  And that's when I got that invitation from Uncle Sam to join the United States Army.  I mean, I couldn't say no to my Country, right?

I happen to be a car guy.  I owned a 409 while the Beach Boys song was on the charts.  And a '66 427 Corvette that should have been declared illegal.  I used to race semi-professionally.  I had begun to realize that my decades-long quest to own every car I deemed collectible was a fools errand.  I realized that my desire to have the biggest house in the neighborhood didn't make me special.  It just made me broke.  

I've owned 127 of those cars in my storied lifetime.  I owned 5 of them at the same time while I was in the Army overseas.  And trust me, that wasn't easy to do!  I shipped two of them home from Germany, a Porsche and a VW.  I owned 11 of them at one time just a couple of decades ago.  Including my coveted 1968 Mercedes 300 SEL.  The fastest 4-door sedan ever made.  Even though I had a 4-car garage and a 4-car driveway, somehow managing to find a parking space out front for the other 3 always presented a problem.  And the neighbors were always pissed.  I didn't give a sh*t back then.  Now?  Please forgive me, neighbors.  I was a dolt.

I wanted to accumulate.  To own.  To collect.  Not stamps, cars.  I think I actually believed that old saying, "He who dies with the most toys, wins!"  My sainted wife/business partner and I ate out every night for 40 years.  I didn't subscribe to one magazine.  I subscribed to 22.  I always extended my finances to own more clothes, more shoes, more cars, more watches, more jewelry, more lavish vacations, more, more, MORE of everything!

And then one day I realized I'd been an idiot.  You don't own all that crap, it owns you!  And you're always paranoid that someone might try and take it from you.  And when you die, it will be sold off or given to somebody else.  Or maybe just chucked into the trash can and carried off to the dump.

Owning 11 cars at one time means you have to pay for the insurance and registrations on vehicles you almost never drive.  Or enjoy.  Because you can only drive one at a time.  That Pride of Ownership thing begins to lose its luster.  You have to wash them.  And maintain them.  It's a never-ending expense.  And a problem you're plagued with. 

My wife and I bought a '53 Rolls Royce.  For giggles.  It was major cool.  It was gold over cream.  WITH a bud vase!  She used to drive it to Albertsons for groceries.  In her cut-offs while wearing a t-shirt and bandana.  Blowing everyones' minds in the process.  

And having 5,000 square feet of house, with 6 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms, and a yuuuge pool, means you have to pay a gigondo light bill.  And gas bill.  And insurance bill.  And property tax bill.  When you should be packing those $Dollars away for your impending retirement.  Which you don't really believe will ever come because you don't think you're old.  It won't happen to me!

Not to Me!

I had 88 pairs of shoes at one time.  I owned 213 Hawaiian shirts.  Why?  Because I could.  Maybe I wasn't hugged enough as a child.  Yeah, that could be it!

Then I woke up one day with one of those head- slapping realizations.  I was over-lifed.  Too much of a good thing!  I began to divest.  To sell all but the cars I could drive on a daily basis.  I sold the mini-mansion and bought a much smaller house.  I offloaded all the shoes and the shirts and the clothes.  The Salvation Army folks loved me.  I even sold most of my expensive watches and jewelry.  I simplified my life.  And began to prepare for the time when I'd be saying Au Revoir to this plane of existence and welcoming the next.  I should have done it 10 years sooner.  Or 20.  But later is okay also, so long as you don't die owning a bunch of stuff you didn't need (how about that present and past tense in the same sentence?)  Burdening your heirs with having to divest it.  Do it so they won't have to.  

Jimmy Buffet, whose shirts I owned by the dozen, died recently.  Even though he just played a guitar and went barefoot, he passed on with an estate valued at more than $500 Million Dollars.  That's a lot o' coconuts!  

But he still died.  

Frank Sinatra's Palm Springs getaway pad just went on the market for $8.5 Million.  But it's still for sale.  He didn't own it.  He couldn't - didn't - take it with him.  His money enabled him to only use it until he croaked.  Because he made a sh*tload of money, he could afford it.  But should he have afforded it?  And then it's now being passed along to somebody else.  And after them, there will be another.  And then another.  That's called life.  

Or death.

Think of it this way:  If you own stuff there will always be those who who'll want to take it from you.  So you're always paranoid.  And anxious.  On the alert like a cornered, would-be target.  And if you're rich and famous, there will be those who'll want to take those riches away and sully your fame.  To bring you down to their level.  Including your own Gubmint.  They're maybe the very worst!  Revel in your anonymity, Fellow Patriots.  Once you lose it, you'll never get it back.  And you're always on guard.  Learn to love walking down the street and not being recognized.  Not having paparazzi chase you is a blessing.

I had a scare recently.  I was diagnosed with Metastatic Small Cell Carcinoma of the lungs.  Sort of the worst kind you can have.  The most invasive and fastest growing.  When I got the diagnosis I Googled it.  It said I had 1 to 3 months to live.  I shut the computer down hard and tried to forget what I'd just read.  

I underwent a full course of chemotherapy treatment, which is just about the worst thing they can do to you.  They try to kill you by pumping your veins full of poison.  You get so sick you're afraid you won't die.  Then you get sort of well-ish for a week and then they do it to you all over again.  For 4 full rounds in my case. Thank God I'm now in remission.  I still have to have immunotherapy infusions forever, my oncologist tells me, but I dodged the bullet.  Since my oncologist is in her '40's, I'm guessing her "forever" and my "forever," are quite different "forevers."    

But at least I proved Google wrong.

Even though that ailment might not kill me, something else will.  For sure.  I'm like the proverbial '87 Honda Civic with 234,000 miles on the clock.  It still runs, but it has a leaky main seal and drips oil on the driveway.  The brakes are bad, and so are the tires.  There's this strange noise coming from the rear end.  The shocks are shot and need replacing.  And the transmission slips.  But it still runs.  

That's me.

I'm not long for this world.  I could get run over by a truck tomorrow.  Or today.  And you could too.  At your age, our age, at any age.  I'm cruising around the Clubhouse Turn and I can see the flags flying at the finish line.  You'll be there too one day.  In the meantime, here are some thoughts On Growing Old.

     - I'd advise everyone to simplify.  To buy only what they need and sell everything they don't.  In fact, I've now embraced the philosophy that if you haven't worn it, or used it, or driven it in the past six months, you should give it away, sell it, or discard it. 

     -  I'd advise you to eat less, exercise more, get plenty of sleep and learn that money cannot buy happiness.  No matter how much of it you have.  

(BTW, since fat is just energy, and we're told energy cannot be destroyed, I wonder where all that GLP-1 weightloss fat went?  Did the emaciated Chinese gain it?)

     -  Don't take life too seriously.  You'll never get out of it alive.

     -  Take care of your car and it will take of you.  It's  the second biggest purchase you'll likely ever make, so keep your car clean and well maintained.  And don't buy a new one, ever.  Buy one somebody else has turned in from a lease.  For 50% less than sticker price.  The average new car price is now $51,150.  With an $800 monthly car payment.  Ghaaahh!  Let someone else take the hit.    

     -  You're not special.  Your breath stinks and your feet smell, I don't care who you are.  And so does everyone else's.  You're imperfect.  We're all imperfect.  No matter how much money you make or how famous you become.  You were designed that way.  Some of us get lucky and live a more public life.  Or unlucky, perhaps.  We don't live in a fishbowl, you and I.  They do.  And their kids are a study in how not to raise children.  Plus, think about the fact that you'll likely never need a psychiatrist!

      -  If you have kids advise them to join the Army.  Or the Navy.  Or another of our military forces as soon as they get their H. S. certificate.  They'll grow them up macht schnell!  Making men and women out of your tall children.  And preparing them to live their lives in today's America.  You'll send off kids and welcome back grown men and women.  And then the military will pay for their education.  So you and your loved ones don't have to.  Taking a big load off your shoulders.  There's really nothing to even think about here.  Trust me.  

     -  Never upsize if you have a choice, and downsize when and where you can.  For the sake of living a simpler and longer and happier life, with a lot less stress.  My first house was small, only 1,148 sq. ft.  I felt bad about that at the time, and worked hard so I could buy a bigger one.  Always clawing upward.  Now?  I could easily go back to that simple home and be happy as a clam.  

     -  You'll never fail if you never take a chance.  Take those chances.  Only by so doing will you learn and improve.  Otherwise you'll always be delivering somebody else's mail, or ringing them up as a cashier at Wal-Mart, or selling popcorn at the local Bijou.  Stretch your talents and abilities to the extreme.  And learn to win more by losing less.  

     -  61% of us work by the hour.  Clocking in every day.  Including every cop and fireman out there.  They can become captives of their own secure, cushy lives. Golden Handcuffs, they call it.  Paid so much they cannot quit.  While 16.1% of us work for ourselves as entrepreneurs.  Selling hot dogs or running a 5-Star company.  Dancing to the tune of our own drummer.  Taking full charge of our own lives.  Wouldn't you really rather be an entrepreneur?  You can start today.    

     -  Spend your remaining time with those you love.  Doing only what you love.  And use the money you've saved living frugally for travel, and nice dining, and reading books.  And lazing by a quiet stream.  And taking long walks in the woods.  Or shooting pool with the boys once you retire.  Wal-Mart needs greeters.  But it doesn't have to be you.  You'll thank me...

I'll be visiting the Celestial DMV one of these days real soon.  If fact, I'm looking forward to it.  You can only dread something for so long.  Then you swallow a big gulp of reality and grow a pair.   Deciding to just go with whatever the rest of your life hands you.  You check in, give them your information, and are told to take a seat and wait 'til see your name up there on the TV screen.  I'm waiting... 

But doing so only after having performed what I call "pre-need" distribution of my remaining excess possessions to those who I think should have them.  Instead of just waiting for them to fight over my stuff after I go, why not give the stuff to them yourself?  Right now??   You don't need it, and they do.  Make sense?  I gave my grandson Jackson my coveted '57 Chevy car model the other day.  I'd owned it for more than 60 years.  His eyes shined brightly.  I beemed as broadly as he did.

We sure do waste a lot of time, effort and energy doing all the wrong stuff while we're alive, now don't we?  I've stated many times I believe that life is a Final Exam.  But we won't know whether or not we've passed until we die.  Hopefully some of us find out what's important while we're still alive and there's time to do something about it.     

I did.  I hope you will as well!

(P.S.  Thanks for being an address on my distribution list.  I vent, you can read it or not.  Either way, that's okay.  I just have a need to puke forth my thoughts using a keyboard.  It gives me an outlet.  And perhaps you another way to look at things.)