“We had achieved far more than most

We gave the world new ways to dream

Everyone needs new ways to dream.”

These lyrics were sung in the poignant Broadway musical “Sunset Boulevard,” which is about an aging actress who yearns for the days when she reigned as the queen of the stage.

I thought about that play after returning from a day trip to Monhegan Island, one of my favorite places in the whole world. Tina and I hiked six miles on the rugged trails around the Island, along with Mamadou, one of our host students, and his friend Ana. It was a spectacular June day, offering breathtaking views overlooking the ocean. But parts of the trail were difficult to negotiate, especially for two oldsters with backpacks and diminishing balancing skills.

I had walked that trail many times over the years, but this is the first time I had thought, “This is hard!” That’s a common lament, I’ve found, when one gets a little older than just a little old. On the physical front, what once seemed effortless now presents a challenge. And we also lose our mental edge, some more than others. Who among us hasn’t forgotten the name of someone we’ve known for decades? Or gone upstairs to get something and not remembered what. Or whether we’ve had breakfast yet.

I was blessed with two parents who aged fairly gracefully and never threw in the towel. My dad passed away at age 97, having played in a bridge tournament just a week before he died. My mother made it to age 89, and she was giving English lessons to an older Asian woman in their retirement home until shortly before she died.

We all, it seems to me, must find new ways to dream. When I was in Little League, I dreamed of becoming a major league baseball player, but having to face curveballs in the Babe Ruth League dashed that dream. Over 30 years ago, I dreamed of making a living as writer on my own, and I reached that goal. During my younger years, I stated three goals: write a book; run a marathon; and hike the Appalachian Trail. I accomplished the first two goals, but the Trail never got hiked, not even a mile of it.

What are my current dreams? Well, I want to survive the Coronavirus pandemic. So far, so good. I want my sons and stepsons and their families to be safe. Again, good news. I want President Trump to be soundly defeated in the 2020 election; moreover, I fervently pray that Americans never again decide that a con man/bully/liar/reality TV star is the right person to hold the nation’s highest office. We are better than that.

I don’t have any big career dreams left, although if things pan out, I may be writing an autobiography of another woman, like the one I wrote about the life of Kate Ireland (“Full Speed Ahead with a Twinkle in Her Eye: The Life and Legacy of Kate Ireland”). I also dream that I’ll come up with an good idea for a play or short story.

I hope to keep writing this column every week as long as the editor wants to run it and readers want to read it.

On the physical front, I just want to stay active enough to keep the blood flowing and the limbs flexible. Again, no doubt about it, age has much to do with mindset. Or, as the Toby Keith song goes, “Don’t Let the Old Man In.”

Four years ago, I wrote about two 103-year-old men in a column entitled, “A Pair of 103’s.” The key to aging well, they both said, was to retain a sense of optimism, a can-do spirit. No one wants to be around grumpy old people for long. One of those two men died two years ago, but the other one recently celebrated his 107th birthday.

I definitely plan to keep being around young people. I love encouraging them to take risks and dream big. And I enjoy telling them stories, some of which might even impart a lesson or two.

In Arthur Miller’s classic play “Death of a Salesman,” the tragic Willie Loman laments, “To suffer fifty weeks of the year for the sake of a two-week vacation, when all you really desire is to be outdoors with your shirt off.”

Unlike Willie Loman, I was fortunate enough to pursue a fulfilling career. I never felt I was just suffering for the sake of a short vacation. And I promise, my dear wife, my friends and all readers that, whatever comes next, I won’t be spending a lot of time outdoors with my shirt off.

David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.

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