Yup. It’s Been a Big Year
It’s been a big year. I hope the next one can be smaller.
— Amanda Anne Platt & the Honeycutters
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Another year. Jeez.
I am writing this as the penultimate day of 2024 turns into New Year’s Eve. I admit having only a vague idea what “penultimate” meant until I heard it used on an NPR story I listened to while walking just after Christmas. I Googled it on my phone while hoofing it. I didn’t have to, but you know. It’s what curious minds do in this magical age of instant access to information. For some, that means only the “facts” they want to hear. For me and others of similar mindsets, it means trying to ascertain what is true. There is quite a difference of opinion these days on what passes for facts. That both baffles and depresses me.
I’ll turn 70 in the new year. I know age is just a number, but it is disconcerting to realize how rapidly I got to this point. I feel roughly 35, both physically and mentally. My nearly decade-long commitment to regularly attending CrossFit classes, improving nutritional habits, and walking three miles on days I don’t go to the gym, means I am in far-better physical condition than I was half a lifetime ago. That, and good fortune, of course. Never discount that.
The other day, our veterinarian disclosed she was 41 and feeling her age due to raising rowdy teenagers (there are no other types). I informed her that if she were my daughter, she would be the third oldest. I hope that made her feel younger, though her insistence that I looked nowhere near my age seemed a bit strained. She recounted
that her father, who is 71, avoids looking in the mirror. The image reflected is almost unrecognizable, he told his daughter, our talented and beloved vet.
I feel her dad’s pain. I get up each morning, as the sun starts peeking over the trees here at Three Geese Farm. Stumble into the bathroom, brush my teeth, the image staring back startling me. My comb-over bald-spot hair sticks up at least 5 inches, gray stubble covers my face, eyes are bloodshot. And that is what I see before I put on my glasses.
No matter. I still feel 35. At least most days.
A recent article in Atlantic reviewed a pair of books that aim to reassess aging. Reviewer Jonathan Rausch posits that a new category is needed to “rethink the meaning of school, work, and retirement — and what it even means to be old.” The term he proposed is late adulthood. That beats the hell out of senior citizen, a term I detest for irrational reasons. That doesn’t stop me from taking the senior discount at every opportunity.
So, I am now knee-deep in late adulthood. I like that!
In a few short weeks, we will swear in a new/old president, a transition I view with considerable trepidation. I fear we are in for some cruel, hard times, marginalized people treated even worse than before, freedom of expression stifled when possible. I sincerely hope I am proven wrong. The death of former President Jimmy Carter brutally reminded me how far we have sunk in our political discourse and in whom we are willing to trust with the nuclear codes and future of this country.
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In preparation for this year, I have been thinking about what I would like to do in 2025. I don’t consider these to be resolutions, more like goofy goals. God willing, I will continue working part-time at the library, will still fill this space weekly as well as write the Capital Highlights column for newspapers across the state. I plan to revisit a book project set aside the past few months. I also am dabbling with writing a novel. To that end, I plan to take a workshop offered by a friend in Nacogdoches who has written several novels distributed by legit publishers. I could use some advice on switching to writing fiction, something I have tried before and failed utterly. My friend is a good guy and teacher. It should be enlightening.
We plan a month-long trip to Europe once the spring semester ends, one reason I intend to keep earning money, not relying wholly on retirement funds. Call that adventure an early 70th birthday. Or a second honeymoon with My Beautiful Mystery Companion.
I also want to tackle some new activities, perhaps taking a class either in-person or online, to learn how to sew upholstery and leather. That would allow me to create cushions for my various woodworking projects. Over the semester break, I have nearly finished building a Mission-style ottoman to replace one shredded by the cats. It has been a joy to get back to my tools and black-walnut lumber.
In 2025, the year I turn 70 on the first day of Virgo, I intend to be kinder and more generous with my time and resources, to seek meaningful ways to volunteer, to be a better steward of this land on which we live. I have been truly blessed in this life with loving family, long-time friends, great health, and financial security far beyond anything I ever expected or deserved.
Happy New Year, my friends. May God bless all of you in 2025.
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