Mile markers

       I encountered a rare thing yesterday: a really, really old human being. She was delighted to share that her birthday was just days away. "I'll be 99 on July third" she announced to me, a stranger, as she smiled brightly, expectantly. Her eyes were faded but wide and expressive in contrast to the slumped attitude of the rest of her body. Her arms lacked any strength or ability for expression. It was as if her eyes were the last best means left to her.  Although she must have been tall once her head and shoulders hunched forward so it felt she was looking up at me. Like a child.
 
       I felt an impulse to reciprocate her enthusiasm. My mind raced around the idea of needing to return on July third with a brightly wrapped present so not to be the part of the humanity that lets down a 99 year-old. But as I tried to be attentive, all the while my brain was making calculations and observations. None of my interest was for her--it was for me. Is this the decay I can expect? Slumped, feeble, skin stretched over bone, widowed and withered? How soon will I be there?

       I'm half a century in age. I could potentially have another half century in me; that is, if I am "lucky" to live as long as my new acquaintance. But to outlive friends, family, and loved ones--all my own children possibly--are these the rewards of a long life? At the 100 mark one has traveled so far and so long that nothing could possible look familiar. Certainly my new acquaintance finds herself in a new and different landscape. Does she not feel afraid or alienated? Without her former strength and sharpness of mind how vulnerable she must feel. I assume these are her feelings, but I may be very wrong. It's more likely she has deteriorated past the point of self-awareness. She may not feel pain so sharply. She may live in confusion. And this makes her fearless and vulnerable. She lives because we all have decided to stay kind to her.

     No wonder the elderly become senile: It is an involuntary defense against the trauma of disorientation. Where do you go when you can't recognize your world? You withdraw into your own head. Before she went docile I wonder if she went through a period of anger or rebellion as she saw her familiar world fade. There had to be a period when she was still strong and aware of what she was losing. Did she fight?  I imagine I would want to fight. I imagine it would feel like the herd was about to run over me. While I had strength I believe I would turn and stand against it. I would throw my chest out defiantly and challenge the on-comers to back down, to slow down with all their striving and progress. Wait a God-damned minute--let me catch my breath and reassess this environment.
 
    What good can come from living 100 years? At some point one is just winding down to death. LIfe is for the robust. At least that's my definition of living. To reaching 100 years I say, "no thanks" while realizing I'm putting a yardstick, so to speak, on just how long I want to live. If not to 100 years, then to what? Is 90 years too long? How about 80? With each reduction in measure I know I'm shrinking my life span. I am going to have to become comfortable with a realistic measure. What I do with my measure now acquires a keener awareness. I need a plan, more than ever. I have to be conscientious and clear about what I do with my time. If past behaviour is an indicator then I know I want to stay in motion. I function best when I am exploring and extracting meaning from my environment. Being alive, for me, is being thirsty for knowledge and adventure. I must stay strong to run with the pack. And I will run because living is a dynamic function. To be alive is to run: Our hearts run, our blood runs. We say things run out. I know too, that I too, will run my course. I'll cease to be. It's a concept of which I've always been vaguely familiar but dismissive. Suddenly, now, I am seeing 99 year-old ladies as not cute but ominous like cautionary road signs--signs that in my youth were too distant to make out, but now appear acutely legible the closer I approach. Like everyone I am running my course. From here on out I expect I will be bent on enjoying the ride to the absolute fullest for my exit is not so far ahead. I just hope it's not at the 100 mile marker.