Feeling my age

I am 67 years old and today I’m feeling my age. A cold, or flu virus, has been chewing on my cells for the past four days. Nothing serious, just a bit of sinus congestion and a feeling of being spaced out. But it is certainly enough to throw “me” off its busy game plan.

At the same time the news channels are filled with dire predictions of a swine flu pandemic. It seems that tiny strands of nucleic acids could take over my body at any moment. The overall sense I have is of being physically and mentally vulnerable

There is no doubt that I’m getting older. I can feel it in many parts of my life.

Three years ago I retired from my job as a Clinical Nurse Specialists in Psychiatry. The pension cheques began showing up, a monthly reminder that my full time working days were behind me (unless the pension plan goes broke). The contract work I’ve been doing since then, consulting on psychiatry research and education initiatives, has kept my mind involved in the developments in psychiatry, and brought in some much needed extra money. Still, as I talk with younger people who have taken on the positions of responsibility I used to hold, my passage into another phase of life is vividly evident.

I seem to be exercising more consistently than I did when I was working full time. Nonetheless my endurance and strength are certainly diminished from what they were ten years ago. One marker I have for that decline is Magyal Pomra Encampment (MPE). I have attended each of the MPEs over the past ten years. Last year I particularly noticed that I needed to rest more and couldn’t fully participate in drill practice. Fortunately, during MPE2008 a group of us who were senior officers, and somewhat older, were grouped together, partially in recognition of our physical status (although some of my MPE peers have not slowed down nearly as much as I have).

Similarly, health and comfort issues have begun to shape the way my wife and I attend major programs at Dorje Denma Ling (DDL), the land center closest to our home in Halifax. At DDL there are only a limited number of rooms in the lodge that was built several years ago. The rest of the accommodations are in small cabins or in tents. These are quite adequate, but can be difficult in poor weather. Like many friends our age, we try to make reservations at nearby B&B’s, but these too are limited in number.

Death is also becoming more familiar and real. The big lesson for me was the death of my parents. They were both very competent and healthy people. When my dad died at age 81, only two months after being diagnosed with liver cancer, it just seemed unbelievable to me. Fortunately I was able to see, and actually touch, his body a few hours after his death. (I was on an airplane coming to see him when he died). That certainly helped make it real for me. But I still am contemplating the fact that these two people, who seemed so much better at dealing with life than I have ever been, were not immune to death.

As the reality of aging becomes clearer, the sense of needing to develop a deeper understanding and realization of basic goodness also seems more evident; but how to do that? Is it time to become a monastic or live at a land center? Should I be doing different practices because I am older? These are the questions, I’m still looking for answers.

-dave whitehorn