Living an Unfinished Life

“IT’S FUN GETTING OLD.”

He was joking, in that adorable old man manner of sarcastic whimsy — the kind that elicits a polite laugh the first and fifteenth time you hear it. I chuckled and nodded, and then we both continued our respective ritual morning walks in opposite directions.

I didn’t mind the comment. After all, he was referring to my recently replaced shoulder and my slow but sure road to recovery. Young people usually don’t walk around with titanium implants, so I get it. I shouldn’t be upset with him, I should be upset with the years of white collar wear and tear, the constant travel and the poor posture that led to a premature erosion of my bones. I’d also like to blame playing a heavy electric guitar in a band since middle school but that’s way too cool of an excuse for someone like me.

What really bothered me was the suggestion — as innocuous or unintentional as it may have been — that “old” means the “end.” That at some point you wake up and say “well, that’s it, I’m done.”

But that’s a choice. Aging is inevitable, but “old” is a decision.

You can retire from work, but retire from life? That’s a waste.

I’ll be done when I’m dead. But in the meantime, life is meant to be unfinished. It’s an open-ended question that will never be answered. There’s always more to experience and learn.

The trick is to go do it. You can always make more money but you can’t make more time, so go — take the trip, eat the weird food, learn that new skill. Most of all never, ever consider yourself a finished product.

You know what? I take it all back.

It’s fun getting old.