Growing older is typically associated with loss. You lose your friends, family members, neighbors and colleagues. You lose your sight, hearing, body hair, youthful energy and (worst-case scenario) your libido and your marbles. If the mind goes first, all the other losses and diminutions dissipate like fading memories.

It all seems to dissolve and sometimes disappear, including your mortal coil. We have an elderly friend who texts every morning to one of her elderly friends, who texts back, to reassure each other that they’re both still on this side of the grass.

Technology wizard that I am, it only recently occurred to me that instead of buying stronger and stronger reading glasses at $25 a pop to work on my computer, I could simply increase the screen image to whatever percentage I needed to see properly. Clearly, the brain fades in direct relation to one’s eyesight.

I shouldn’t admit this in public – just in case some Bureau of Motor Vehicles employee is reading this – but driving at night is a major challenge for me. Approaching headlights glow like phosphorescent underwater sea creatures and street lights have misty auras (both signs of growing cataracts, another troubling symptom of aging). Truthfully, I shouldn’t be driving after the sun goes down. I sometimes feel like that blind mole chauffeur from one of those 1960s TV cartoon shows.

My wife, who’s got a few years on me, has aged beautifully, always looking 10 years younger than her true age, but she too has started to show some signs of aging’s insistent wear and tear. She’s always losing things: her phone, her purse, her iPad, her earrings. When I suggested she might consider attaching these items to herself via some kind of cable system, she didn’t crack a smile.

Of course, growing older isn’t only about loss. You gain a few things too. Hopefully, a bit of wisdom. Maybe a sense of peace and security. More likely, varicose veins, age spots, and “barnacles,” as our dermatologist refers to those crusty bumps that seem to appear overnight on your back, arms and legs. “Even the sleekest yacht collects a few barnacles,” the skin doctor jokes during our annual checkups, just before he discovers something more worrisome that requires freezing or cutting.

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be older. At 10 I longed to be James Bond. In my 20s I would have been happy to be Jacques Cousteau. Growing up, the average American lived to be 72 years old. Neither of my parents made it into their 80s, but they suffered from respiratory disease (smoking) and dementia (bad car accident). So, I don’t have a good idea if I’m hardwired for longevity.

As the old saw goes: No one likes getting old, but it’s better than the alternative. The very first essay I wrote for this newspaper 10 years ago began with: “It’s hard growing old in Maine. Especially if you don’t have a garage.” I stand by those words.

— Special to the Telegram

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