Turning 75 Soon

  I’ve begun the countdown. It’s under 60 days until I reach the ripe age of 75. It’s that close.

Some may call it old. Others would downplay that statement, saying that age alone isn’t a barrier to enjoying life. 

I would agree that both perspectives are true. I’ve worked my body hard for 75 years but now I find that it is harder to do so many things. Words which seemed to be foreign to me—osteoarthritis and stenosis—are now familiar and I can feel their regrettable discomfort. 

Sleeping a full night isn’t possible anymore. I take what I can get and I welcome naps when possible. Certainly my bladder has a mind of its own overnight and constantly reminds me of that fact. On the bright side, waking at night allows me to take necessary pills for my thyroid and dry eye overnight so as not to interfere with the four other pills I take with breakfast for cholesterol, blood pressure, heart disease and possible asthma-like symptoms. This is before I get to the slew of vitamins and supplements which accompany lunch and dinner. Not to be confused with all sorts of sprays and eye drops to combat mucus and dry eye. And did I forget my twice daily Neil Med bottle? I won’t even get into creams and powders I must apply to my body. 

I see plenty of doctors. They like to try and resolve issues. Except that older bodies create more issues and many of them are, at best, only controllable. For now.

Then there is the siren song of exercise. Once a runner and tennis player, along with lifting sizable amounts of weight, I find myself fighting a flexibility and weight issue constantly. While others say I look great and there are times when I even take a peek and think that my stomach doesn’t protrude too much, my scale brings me back to harsh reality every Wednesday and Saturday morning. 

After all, the aforementioned doctors look at my BMI and suggest that I lose some weight. Easier said than done. I don’t eat red meat and I limit my dessert intake. That scale, a relatively new one, has it in for me, I guess. 

Messing with an already tortured mind has its limits. Smaller portions and more vegetables have become the norm. A healthy diet must include such and such. Follow the Mediterranean Diet—it’s good for you. Keep reading on the subject (and squinting at smaller and smaller print) and you might discover that you will likely need cataract surgery and feel even crankier. And stay away from carbs! 

I want to live as long as I can. I want to enjoy the fruits of a life well-lived and with plenty more to see and do. But I wonder how much of my extensive bucket list I will be able to achieve and how long I will be able to travel.

I want to be free of foolishness, but I know that is unrealistic. In our ever-changing political climate, I am a fatalistic observer in a power game in which I have no agency. But in my personal sphere, my instinct is to give—to help others wherever I can. It was what led me to be an attorney and then a Public Defender. So, too, did I take multiple positions on our synagogue’s board of trustees, culminating in a very fulfilling two years as the temple’s president.

Passion runs deep within me. I will fight for a cause as much as give good counsel when asked. I am not overly demonstrative. Still I have learned how to subtly and not so quietly get a point across.

I yearn to be entertained. Whether it is a movie, book, TV series, sports or a fine meal—I seek enjoyment from them all. Yet too many times it ends up with disappointment. 

Love—I have plenty of that. From my bestie wife to my two wonderful children and one wonderful son-in-law, I am so lucky. I also have cousins and in-laws with their families. Then there are the multitudes of friends  I have made throughout the years who brighten up my days repeatedly with messages of kindness and generosity. 

I played sports with a hunger and desire to be the best I could be. Even if I was 5’5” and no more than 150 pounds in my athletic prime. What did I know that I didn’t belong on a football field or a basketball court with much larger people or that my tennis serve was flat because I had no real angle over the net? 

I hate war and all it stands for. This goes to my roots as the son of a World War II veteran. There is no joy when nations collide; peace is fragile if nothing more. Liberation of those oppressed can only occur with determined, united minds. That occurs only when those attacked are in a position to repel the onslaught. 

Which is why I detest the metaphor in sports that teams or individuals go into battle when they meet. Boxing, mixed martial arts—even football—are legalized violence which can only result in irreparable harm to the participants. 

Life is a meritocracy. We seek to be rewarded for our efforts—whether it is monetarily or through repeated praise. Feeling good is a whole lot better than feeling bad. Romance is a heck of a lot better than despair. 

It is clear that the journey we take in our lives can be only as good as we try to make it to be. We seek to be rewarded for our efforts—whether it is monetarily or through repeated praise. Feeling good is a whole lot better than feeling bad. Romance is a heck of a lot better than despair. Nonetheless, as much control as we seek to exert over our day-to-day lives and beyond, we are subject to the vicissitudes of the world we exist in, which is ever-present. Our mien can be confused, smart, confident or just plain moody.

I read the newspapers and go online regularly. As age creeps up, the obituaries take on a new, sadder dimension. How much longer does one have to enjoy the ride? 

That is the great unknown. It is not a game like poker or chess. You might try to control the outcome, but life is finite, and you just don’t know when, or how, it is going to end. 

Thus, I have reflected upon what it means to me to write this blog. To express my inner thoughts as I approach a milestone birthday. There is a cathartic release that is invoked with the use of words.  

Sports give me joy. Writing about sports allows me to stay in a place where I remain most comfortable. Even if the New York Yankees, New York Jets and New Jersey Devils gave me more agita than happiness too many times over the years. And doubtlessly into the future as well. 

As my birthday approaches, I will continue to report and comment on what I observe in the sporting world as it impacts me—and you who read this blog. Believe me, I could write tons on the Yankees dismal weekend at home against the arch rival Boston Red Sox, touching upon the lack of pitching hitting and the woes of the local boy, Anthony Volpe as he tries to find a miracle cure for his silent bat and erring glove, or how the team has come alive playing sub .500 teams like the Nationals and White Sox. College football has begun in earnest (I kind of knew Arch Manning and his Texas team might have been in over their heads playing at Ohio State—aren’t the Buckeyes defending champs?) And the NFL opens its campaign on Thursday. 

I have more games to go to. Many more to watch, even if streaming is taking away what cable has been offering. A big boo to the pervasive greed and avarice.

I also will interject lists of things important to me which might cause you, my loyal readers, to think and offer your own opinions. Because honest debate is part of sports too, where opinions are constantly scrutinized and debunked as well as praised. 

So, I’m here for the foreseeable future, writing this blog as well as I can. After all, I don’t think that I am getting an invitation to the Travis Kelce—Taylor Swift future nuptials (I wish then all the best—really); my chances of winning the lottery are perhaps a touch greater and that is slim and none.

It is more because they have no clue who I am. Nor that I am turning 75 soon. That’s on me.