I turned 75 this year, an age I’ve looked forward to. It’s a cool number, don’t you think? Since I’ve arrived here with good health, good family and friends, and an active mind, I consider myself so fortunate.

Yet when I actually turned 75, I found myself ambivalent. During the past year, I had a hip replaced. Though I was back to standing without pain and walking as I’m accustomed to, it took longer to regain my energy. The inevitable discussions surrounding doctors and health led to thoughts of mortality, which I’ve never shied from, but which now I take more personally. 

Poetry gave me an outlet for describing this ambivalence. In writing this, I gained perspective on this remarkable age and how I think about it. During the writing, my energy also returned. A coincidence? Perhaps. But the writing may have influenced my thinking by focusing on the balance of this age.

I lived in a century-old farm house until I was four.

At 75, my body gives way,

sagging like a century-old farmhouse. 

Knees and stairs creak, a weary dirge they play,

a tune to cause groans and tempt me to grouse.

Off-kilter windows like memories stick;

I pray they break loose, and I can recall.

Joints have worn out, and I’m no longer quick.

Activity grinds to a halt. What gall!

Yet my mind is sharp, experience vast,

curiosity and will abundant.

Upkeep and attention ensure I’ll last;

My body shifts but remains resplendent.

In body and mind, I have much to give.

I’m grateful for life I have yet to live.

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I’m curious how you think about aging. Have you been surprised at how reaching a particular landmark age affected you? How have you managed the change?

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