I spent forty years certain I would die young. I was terrified. I’m sixty-five today. And the strangest thing happened on the way here: the fear didn’t get worse as the end got closer. It disappeared.
When I was young, that fear was intense. I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it past twenty-five. The terror followed me into my thirties and forties. I expected to die before I really lived.
Then something shifted. As I blew past twenty-five, then thirty, then decade after decade after that, the fear didn’t intensify. The closer I came to the actual end, the less I feared it. Four decades past that original deadline, I can tell you that transformation is real.
It came through spiritual work. Through asking what consciousness actually is, and coming to understand that we’re not just bodies bound for the grave. It came through loss, through Shayna, through years of looking at the evidence around near-death experiences and what waits beyond. That evidence changed me at the level of experience, not just ideas.
The Checkbox That Says 65+
So here I am. Just like that, on every survey, I’m in the highest category for the rest of my life. I’m 64+. The body doesn’t work the way it used to. Blood pressure, kidney concerns, prostate concerns, all the things that come with being called elderly. Though “elderly” still doesn’t feel like me.
I drafted this article on my morning walk, talking it out mile after mile. I love that technology allows me to do that. I can listen to books while I’m on my walk. I can take in a podcast.
I marked the day by adding to the route. My usual walk is six miles. Today I threw in an extra half mile, so I could log one mile for every decade I’ve been here. That’s how sixty-five feels to me. Not a finish line. A reason to go a little farther.
Here’s what I’ve come to believe. The body breaking down isn’t a bug. It’s a feature.
The Design of Temporary
We’re not supposed to be here forever. Earth is a temporary home, and I believe the aging process exists to keep reminding us of that. Why else would our bodies lose hair where we want it, grow hair where we don’t, wrinkle, and grow that paunch we’re always trying to get rid of? Time is precious and limited. The body’s slow breakdown is actually a mercy. A constant nudge toward presence, toward intention, toward paying attention to what matters.
That doesn’t mean I want to suffer, and it doesn’t mean I’m ready to leave. The truth is I love being here, at this time, on this Earth. I’ve seen amazing things in sixty-five years, and I want to see more. I’ve had an amazing ride, and there’s still time left. The steak and scallops I enjoyed on Memorial Day were still delicious. The week I just spent in Myrtle Beach with my daughter and her fiancé was still joyful. Knowing this isn’t forever doesn’t pull me out of it.
But it does change something.
The Real Spiritual Work Happens in the Mess
People talk about Earth as a school, a gym, a place you come to learn. Fair enough. The thing is spiritual muscle doesn’t grow in a cave. Ironically, after writing this, I returned to my desk and realized I had a podcast interview this morning with a monk who had renounced her vows and returned to the world to share a much-needed message. Hmm…
Meditating in isolation, reaching for transcendence, that’s beautiful. It’s just not what I’m here for.
I’m here to get involved in all the junk. My dog Stevie is having health issues, too. I have to set up an appointment for her. I’m dealing with a podcast deadline and two interviews on my birthday. I’m here to reach for something deeper while I’m standing in the middle of the ordinary and the difficult.
That’s harder than enlightenment in solitude. And it’s probably more the point.
The body keeps reminding me of what I already know spiritually. We’re not just flesh and circumstance. We’re consciousness having a temporary human experience. The work that actually grows us isn’t escaping that tension. It’s learning to fly spiritually right in the middle of it. Natalie Sudman said that to be in a human body is like being a fighter pilot flying 50’ off the deck through a box canyon. This isn’t for the faint of heart.
What Sixty-Five Taught Me
I’m grateful for the time I’ve had, and I’m committed to being as productive as I can for as long as I can. Not because I’m afraid of aging, but because presence and purpose are the same thing. They happen now, while I’m still here.
The checkbox that says “65+” doesn’t define me. But it does make something clear. The spiritual life isn’t somewhere else. It’s here, in the mess, learning to love it anyway.
Father Time, you may be coming for me. But I’m not going to slow down for you.
And that fear I carried for forty years? It’s gone. What took its place is steadier and quieter: I know that death is a doorway, not an ending. Once you know that, you walk through your days differently.
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