Accepting My Challenges in Old Age and Making the Best of Them

Because I have a role to play

Ales Krivec for Unsplash+

I have not written or posted in nine days. I’ve been overwhelmed with worry about my daughter, who’s having a very hard time in LA. I’ve said recently that I seem to be able to write even when I’m worried and stressed. But that hasn’t been true for the past nine days. The storm’s not over, but there is a lull, so I wanted to get this one out to you.

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I thought I would spend my eighties writing, meditating, and enjoying my retirement. Enjoying smooth sailing on the SS Elderhood.

That is not how it has turned out, and maybe all these difficult things (and more) will just keep happening for the rest of my life, and perhaps they will.

That will be okay, because I am thankful to be alive at 80. And maybe my role is to help my wife, my daughter, my son, and my next-door neighbor Kent when times are tough for them.

I have a role to play in their lives.

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And of course, I have a role to play in helping all of you who read my scribblings and respond with your heartfelt thoughts and encouragement. Your feedback keeps me inspired and keeps me writing like this reader who responded to my latest article.

We should all live the way Gary suggests. I mean by accepting exactly where we are and making our journey the best it can be regardless of our circumstances. So many of us live our lives thinking, ‘I will be happy when the kids are grown, or when I retire, or when I am financially secure.’ There is no perfect time in the future. The time for living each day fully is now.

This reader has her own serious life challenges, and I am amazed at how she’s making the best of it and not getting lost in her fear, lost in her thoughts.

Getting lost in your thoughts is like being lost in the forest, and you tack small pieces of red ribbon to trees as you go so you can always retrace your steps if you want to go back to where you started (another way of leaving breadcrumbs). Finally, after walking for hours, you discover a small piece of red ribbon tacked to a tree.

You have been walking in a circle, going nowhere.

That’s what we do when we get lost in our thoughts. Groping like a blind person from one thought to another. All the while not realizing our thoughts are not reality. The map is not the territory. The menu is not the meal. The wise part of me would say, I am too much in my head.

That’s why I haven’t been writing for 9 days.

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On Tuesday, my daughter was pulled over for an expired car registration and had missed court dates in another matter (she was arrested and held for a day). Long story short, her life is difficult for her now, and I’m trying to help her.

I should mention she is not drinking or doing drugs of any kind. It’s not that kind of problem.

I am helping her get her car registered, insured, and out of impoundment, which will cost me money I really cannot afford. But she is only a short distance from living on the street, so I really have to act now. She will receive her divorce settlement in December (hopefully), and she’ll be out of the woods. And she will pay me back for the thousands I have already loaned her.

I have a role to play in her life.

That’s all I feel comfortable saying publicly. All this is trying my patience and my mindfulness. But I will do it because I’m the only one available to help her. We all have our roles and reasons for being, and we carry on doing what we have to do.

When my daughter was born in San Francisco in 1975, I was in the room to see her grand entrance. Nurses took my wife (my first wife) to her room to care for her, leaving me sitting beside my daughter, watching her in her little bassinet. I spent a precious hour alone in the hospital with her in the first hour of her life. And now she is 53, and I’m still sitting beside her, loving her just as much as I did in 1975.

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My good friend and neighbor, Kent, has late-stage prostate cancer. His life right now is one tragic example of what could happen to us at 92. He has three catheters in him, one for his bladder and two for his kidneys. Plus, he’s getting strong medication for his pain.

A few days ago, I drove him to his appointment for a PET scan at the Veterans Hospital. Even though Kent was very, very tired, he was more cheerful than I expected. I would not have been surprised if he were miserable and angry, given his situation.

But he was the same old Kent I’ve always known. Marina and I have known Kent for 30 years. Kent and his then partner, Jim, were the first of our neighbors to introduce themselves the day we moved in. And we’ve had a strong friendship with them ever since. Jim died four years ago.

I always feel better every time I’m with Kent; he’s just that kind of person. I don’t think you can train a person to be like that. He’s probably always been that way since he was a lifeguard on a Southern California beach and a cheerleader at his Pasadena High School. His disposition is always sunny. Kent spent his life as a cheerleader.

Someone once told me that in old age, people don’t really change. They just become an older version of the person they always were, good or bad. I meet older people who are always having a bad day. And some are always making their journey the best it can be, regardless of what’s happening, with a smile on their face.

Kent is my role model for old age. I hope I won’t have to suffer the degree of illness and pain he’s suffering when I’m 92. But if I do, I hope I will bear it with patience, equanimity, and love.

When I walked Kent to the gate of his condo, he thanked me for helping him, then leaned on the gate and rested his head on his arm, exhausted.

I am learning not to sugarcoat old age. For me, it may be smooth sailing or filled with suffering. And there’s no way of knowing in advance how it will turn out.

However it unfolds, I know I must accept what happens and make the best of it because I have a role to play.

Gary
December 2025