Aging Gracefully
Having blogged something called The I Can Almost Reach It Years, I’d like to take one more swing at aging.
I’m trying here not to ignore limping, poor eyesight, frequent day-naps, hearing, chewing, insomnia, dark moods and other baggage that accompanies the latter years.
Lately I’ve been struggling with a bigger issue: “I did it. Why can’t I still do it!”
I’m not going to go for any cheap sex jokes here--although recently I did take one of those Annual Medicare Health Care quizzes and when the very polite nurse looked up from her computer and said, “Sex life?” I manage to respond, “Do you have a category for Once Upon A Time?”
Now that we’ve sent all the blog’s Wokes for a walk, I will move along to that subject that has been giving me concern of late.
Chores!
No great surprise here. Needing another hip replacement, I can’t mow the lawn. Loading the dishwasher gives me incredible back pains. No more ladder climbing, and don’t get me started on the subject of the “driving instructor.” She’s been co-piloting alongside me for 56 years. But it’s not the chore aches and mundane that pain me so.
What gets me is the fact that I wasn’t ready for this listless life. If nothing else, my bio documents the fact that, for years, at least, I was busy.
https://www.pastpageturners.com/bobs-bio/
So, and this IS NOT a brag, damn it, I miss the days when I had the (here comes the discovery part) passion and energy to work the publishing game---from landing an agent, to crafting proposals, submitting stories on speculation, travel, interviews, and cold calling big time magazines. It took me two years, combing the New York phone book until I finally landed Jane Wilson, a wonderful literary agent.
I write this as a suggestion to anyone in their sixth or plus decade who might read this blog. I’ve come to the realization that I’m old and experiencing what many elders are faced with---low energy meets crashing passion.
What’s the answer? Well, I am going to get those (completed) three novels and one memoir, that have never seen an agent or publisher’s red pen out the door.
They all took a lot of research, dedication, writing and rewriting. To allow them to remain shelved wouldn’t be fair to the effort I’m harping about here.
How will they sell? We’ll just have to see. I gave them all a reread recently and came to grips with the fact that they—best I can do-- aren’t bad. I’m glad I wrote them and although they (agentless) aren’t with Harper Collins or Simon & Schuster, I, having played the game, will now chase the dream all the way to Amazon and Ingram.
Oh, a conclusion I’ve come to, is one that you certainly don’t have to be a writer to consider. Regardless of your background, career or life’s work, take a few minutes during your next coffee break and begin to give this a thought and do it now. Find yourself a RETIREMENT hobby. Hell, build bird houses, model railroads, weave rugs, open a home brewery, take up photography, pottery or painting.
After spending 50 plus years as a writer—doing the same thing year after year---my fear was that I may have come to the above conclusion a bit too late. So, it’s clearly time for me to change things up. Don’t count me out.
Hell, I was buzzing the Net the other day and found an intriguing ad for Guinea Pig home sales. Also, under consideration, I’m wondering if beekeeping, hot air ballooning or ballroom dancing might be a good fit. I’m thinking that the robust Ant Farm business might be looking for a good homebased distribution center.
