Most of my life I’ve been obsessed with the obituaries. Children have a natural fascination with death and gore. The first headline I remember reading was about Marilyn Monroe’s death. Well, it was easy. I guessed from the size of the words. I liked reading the obituaries because they were little stories. I have always liked stories. After a while, I stopped reading them. There were better stories to read and it was slightly morbid.

I started reading them again in late middle age. This was because I had to see who among my friends parents had passed away.

I stopped reading that because it was easier to find information on Facebook.

Now, I view the ages of people who have died when I read the news. I calculate how much older or younger they are than me. Are they my age? Maybe they are five years older or eight years older. If they die at 93, it means they are 25 years older. That is such a long time, but it is such a short time.

It’s like life. There are very few transitions. At one time, I went from attending my friends’ weddings to attending their children’s weddings. There was no break in between. The obituaries have become that way. It is not so much the obituaries as Facebook. It seems that every week someone from my childhood dies. These are usually not my friends. My friends have not had a timeline. They have been leaving since my 20s. It has been a joke that men who date me and leave me die. Just about all my past relationships are literally dead. It no longer upsets me. It’s just a fact.

I was brought up not to disclose my age in public. I have been very lucky in that for the most part I do not look my age. I don’t believe that is true anymore, but people assure me that they are surprised at how old I am. My mother always pretended to be 10 years younger than she really was and she always got away with it. One of her friends was shocked to find out when my mother passed that she was the same age as her mother, exactly. They were literally born on the same day. The age numbers never bothered me because I did have that genetic gift. However, even though I must say that I looked fantastic at 60, it felt off putting somehow. 65 was a game changer. I moved into the last checkbox the demographic selection. I began to feel that time was finite.

I was at a school reunion about 20 years ago. One of my classmates said, “We’d better make the best of it. We are in the last third of our life.” I wasn’t buying it. I felt young and vital. Indeed, I was. I laughed at his statement at the time but once I passed the last milestone birthday, it became very real to me. Time had finally become finite. There was going to be an end to the chapter. And as I had discovered when I was 18, I was not going to know what it was.

There is a group for women over 50. In one of their promotional videos, there is a woman who wants to stay “juicy”. I was definitely juicy at 50. I was anxious to join that group. I went to a local organizing meeting and they tried turning me away at the door. “Honey, this group is for women over 50.” It reminded me of the time that a boyfriend and I went with the gay couple to a gay bar. Another hand came in between us, “This is a gay bar, kids.”   

Recently, I heard on my radio station that the average life expectancy in the US right now is 77.9 years. Time is finite. I now have a sell by date. It’s not the expiration date. We have been educated that the sell by date really means “best used by”. The same can even be said for the expiration date. These dates have become very real for me. The clock is ticking.

My mother came from a family that had “gifts”. She wanted no part of that. Fortune telling and future telling were strongly looked down on. She always related the story of someone having her palm read and being told that they could not find the future line and walking out and being killed immediately by a bus. She believed that one did not need to know about the future. It makes sense. Every day should be lived as if it is your last. This is easier said than done. None of us can know when our time is over. Just because statistics say I only have another nine years means nothing.

What I am going to do with those remaining years is important. For quite some time, I have been considering the best use of my time every day. This now has taken on a greater urgency. My friends and I laugh that time is moving so quickly. One week starts before it seems the previous one has ended. Days blur. Remember when you were a child and it seemed like forever until Christmas? Or your birthday? I heard something recently that said time moves slower when you were younger because you were learning something every day. I still try to learn something every day and sometimes I actually do. However, it does not stop the gallop of time.

I feel an enormous amount of pressure now to make the best use of my time. It is interesting to consider what that might be. I have been writing for years. I had a manager 20 years ago who told me I never complete anything. I’ve always tried to be open to criticisms from managers from whom I am parting. For example, my first manager in fashion told me I was not proactive enough. I did not make that mistake again. However, I have to concede that I do not finish things. I’ve been thinking about the reasons why this might be. My father was a writer and very critical of me but he has been gone for 20 years. Plus, in his last year of life, he told me not to wait until he died to write but to do it now. I did not follow his advice. I am writing now. I am still not finishing. This is something I must do. I have always maintained that fear is natural and must be acknowledged. Fear should not stop you. I have been afraid in my life many times and just sucked it up and got on with it. However, submitting my writing for publication totally terrifies me in a way that I am not familiar. I need to get this done. My grandmother always said that I lived on “put off street”. I need to move!

There are other considerations as well. I love to read. I have been reading less in later years. It is something that soothes me. I used to read several books a week. This year, it looks like it will be only one a week. I have more time than when I was working So what is the problem? How do I find the time for my preferred drug?

Working. I have finally decided not to look for employment. This has been a very difficult decision. It has been based more on my physical condition than attitude and need. Now that I have my sell by date, it definitely falls to the bottom of the pile. I feel a certain amount of grace because my time is limited. This does not mean that I will not work for money again. If I do work again for money, it will be something that comes to me not something that I seek. Who knows? I may even sell a story or two.

Move is a word that’s problematic for me. I have become increasingly immobile. This has also led me to the decision to just stop actively looking for work. My body is betraying me. I thought for the most part I had treated it well. OK, I have had a massive chocolate addiction. I have been able to get it somewhat in check in the last decade or so. I was not pleasingly plump for a while. This usually happened when I was unhappy. I have had periods of unhappiness throughout my life. Plus, it was a delayed adolescent rebellion. Weight was always important to my parents because my aunts were morbidly obese and my mother was manic about her weight and appearance. However, only four short years ago when I was examined by a Medicare physician, I was told that I was one of the healthiest Americans he had encountered. I exercised more or less faithfully for most of my life. If I didn’t belong to a gym, I did an enormous amount of walking. Walking has always been my happy place. I no longer have that. My condition is impacting all areas of my life. I can no longer type, cook or walk. We all know that age will catch up to us eventually. My mother exercised regularly until just after her 79th birthday. Her deterioration was sudden and unexpected. She had definitely done everything right. However, we all realize, even she did, that as we age certain things slow. I am not slowed so much has come to a grinding halt. I do my best not to let it stop me. Of course, it does. What cannot be cured must be endured.

I wish someone would have let me know that I would not always be able to feel my body moving quickly. That one day I would no longer be able to feel the wet sand on my bare feet as I walked along the water’s edge. It’s funny how lust changes along the way. I used to lust over men, clothing and money. Now, I lust after shoes. I see people on TV or in the street and I want their shoes! I watch programs with beautiful stairways and I mourn. No one would have been able to tell me that when I was younger.

Clothing is another thing that changed for me as I got older. I used to be very forward. I had my pulse on something. It was undefined but I usually was a step ahead. Then I became a sort of contemporary classic. My mother had told me that I would grow into things. So, I began to rock Chanel type jackets, Calvin Klein pantsuits, beautiful suits in jeweled colors. Elastic waisted pants were for old fat people or going to the gym. Now, the least path of resistance is elastic. I do not like what I wear. I am succumbing to old age.

Another thing I was brought up to do was to give back. I still do that. I tutor a child. This gives me great joy. It is a gift to help a child be able to read and thus discover new worlds and new possibilities. I will not give this up. It is worth the time. I also volunteer. Right now, I am on my HOA board. It almost amuses me because I bring my experience to the table. I am seen as an older person with experience. It seems like only the other day that I was the firebrand on the board demanding change. Again, there was no transition. Perhaps this is the way life is.

I am actually comforted by the idea of a sell by date. It gives my life a shape. One of the things I had decided some months back, was to try and do something nice each day for someone else. It is selfish. I have no natural children. I do have “bonus” children. I have little cousins and nieces by marriage. These are the closest I have come to children. The reason I bring this up is that I’m concerned about the afterlife. I am part Jewish and to paraphrase one of the prayers for the dead, “you live on in memory of what you have done.” It’s not completely rational but I would like my memory to live on for another generation. I do not know how to explain this. I want my time on this earth to have meant something.

I am looking forward to embracing my remaining years. There is so much to do!