Turning 88 years old

Sam Smith – On Monday, assuming I’m still alive, I will become 88 years old. This is not only a novelty for me, it will mean I’ve outlived all the males in at least four generations of my family and ten years longer than the average American white male. Meanwhile over 200 of my friends, relatives I knew and co-workers are in a grave.

I’m more confused than thrilled by all this. Being old is not as honorable a status as some would suggest. I concluded some time ago that it was more like being a teenager. You think wrong, do wrong, say wrong, forget the important and don’t get consulted on ideas or  invited to many events

This is all despite growing older being one of the things we Americans have done best in the past century, adding a few decades to our lifespan since 1850. But this statistical improvement is more often viewed as a cultural or health problem rather than cause for celebration.

Even one’s own memory eliminates a growing number of past sagas. Besides those a few decades younger than you aren’t interested in them anyway.

None of this is surprising given the statistics. Males of my age in America represent about eight tenths of one percent and we share our life with 342 million other Americans and 8 billion humans around the world.

I’m still working on this numerical condition. One of the solutions that my wife (of the past 59 years] and I have enjoyed was moving from Washington DC in 2009 to a small town of 8,000 in Maine where I had summered as a kid. I am struck by how this simple choice has improved my comfort and my values. For example I can’t think of anyone who has seriously lied or conned me since I returned to Maine. And one’s relevance depends in no small part on real people you share it with a record 22% of them in Maine over 65.

It is stunning that our dysfunctional national system of politics and culture take so much precedence over what we can actually feel, touch and talk with on a daily basis – namely the community we live in.

The national media defines our lives despite the fact that tens of millions of us are far better humans than, say, Donald Trump. We have let media descriptions replace the real ones that used to picture us.

As a journalist I realize that I have contributed to this bias toward power over common reality but lately my past as a college anthropology major has encouraged me to tell more tales about real things that real people do and who they really are. You don’t get elected to or buy this role; you simply practice it.