Don’t fear your mortality, because it is this very mortality that gives meaning and depth and poignancy to all the days that will be granted to you — Paul Tsongas
I had a birthday earlier this month, and it got me to thinking. Birthdays have a way of doing that as you get older, don’t they? This one got me to thinking that I was turning 62 and how the hell did that happen? It also got me to thinking about my mother and her father, both of whom died at 64.
In 1967, when I was 18 years old, the Beatles released a catchy little number called “When I’m 64” on their Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album and anybody who doesn’t know what an album is can stop reading right now. A newly minted college freshman, I thought it was a quaint song about old people. Now it seems that Lennon and McCartney were wrong. I am not losing my hair, I am not wasting away and I most certainly do not need anybody to feed me or need me. Or am I? Do I?
I have to say that the spectre of “64” looms large in my thoughts, both conscious and unconscious. Longevity is not particularly rampant in my family. Of course, there could be a truck out there with my name on it tomorrow, but you never know. And that’s the point.
So I got to thinking: What if I suddenly started taking after my mother’s side of the family and my number really was up at 64? What if I really only had 730 days left? What would I do? What would I want to accomplish, complete, start? A sort of a bucket list, I suppose. Tim and I are going to Iceland with his mother and sister in November because that was on his mom’s 80th birthday bucket list in June. Cool, huh?
Mom and me in better days
I think about my mother at this age. At 62, she was old. My father had uprooted her from her home in the suburbs of New York City to the west coast of Florida and she was miserable. She hated the heat and missed the snow and the city and never exercised a day in her life. She basically sat in a chair in Palm Harbor and waited to die. It was horrible.
Some days I feel like I want to retire (whatever that means in today’s economy and whatever it means for someone who, as a freelancer in this economy, has been semi-retired for much of the past 20 years). And then some days I still wonder what I want to be when I grow up. Like many of you, I also sit bolt upright in bed at three a.m., going over endless (and pointless) to-do lists, stuffing down regrets and trying to deal with the fear. 730 days is a whole different kind of fear.
So what do I want to do? Here’s my list:
- Learn Italian — for real
- Walk more
- Spend more time back up north
- Live in Italy for a few months
- Lose that 10 pounds (oh hell, I shouldn’t even care about that one any more!)
- Write another book
- Laugh more
- Read everything
- Eat very, very well
- Loosen up a bit
- Dance more
- Love more
- Travel as much as I can (even John and Paul mentioned something about a little cottage on the Isle of Wight)
Yeah, I know — I won’t get to do it all. But at least I’m focused now. And I can start. And if I get more than the 730 days, I just might finish.
Well — what’s on your list? Make it. Do it. Have the time of your life.
Buon viaggio!
Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…
