Tomorrow I will turn 79 years old.

To put that in context, Lindsey Graham was 71 when he died, my father was 50, my mother was 99 and the average age of death for white males in this country is 76.5.

To put it another way, I’m a lot closer to saying good-bye to this world than I was when I said hello in Holy Family Hospital in Manitowoc, Wisconsin in 1947.

One of the things I like about writing columns is that I never know what I’m talking about when I begin the process a week ahead of my deadline the next Monday. So knowing that my name will be on the byline and a headshot of me next to it at the top of the page, I am highly motivated to wrestle with the subject I pick until I’ve moved from not knowing what I’m talking about to at least deserving credit for giving it a good shot, even though readers might still think I don’t know what I’m talking about.

The subject I’ve been wrestling with this last week is mortality — in general and in my particular case.

So what is it like to approach the Big Eight-Oh?

To put that one in context, have you heard of Natalie Grabow? In 2025, the 80-year-old completed a run-bike-swim, 140.6-mile-long Ironman challenge in 16 hours, 45 minutes, and 26 seconds.

To put that in context, the electric scooter I use to get around would run out of power at the 15-mile mark. If I ate better, took creatine peptides, if I had a better attitude about aging or visited the gym more often — if I did all that, would I too be running marathons?

When my car hit the 150,000 mile mark, I started sinking more money into brakes, the transmission, a new battery, the exhaust system. Even if it was a Honda, it was time to trade my faithful import in for new wheels.

My computer was having lots of problems, so I took it to my young tech — they’re always young — and listed all the symptoms. 

His reply—“We can fix some of the problems but the main issue is that it’s old.”

“Funny/strange,” I thought. “That’s what my doctor tells me at my annual checkup.”

On the way up the mountain of life, I’ve concluded, it’s all about learning, growing, achieving, acquiring, winning, producing, … On the way down it’s about losing — memory, agility, strength, productivity, friends, ability to perform sexually, health, spouses, the house we bought 40 years ago, work that gave meaning to my life.

If that’s all true, then how do I explain why I’m happier at 79 than at any other time in my life?

A one-word response might be “surrender.”

The Serenity Prayer:

Lord give me the serenity to accept what I cannot change; courage to change what I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.

I look back at my life — a project Eric Erickson says is appropriate for an “almost octogenarian” — I make judgments regarding the time and energy I invested in each aspect, and three things come to mind.

Ecclesiastes 2:11: Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent doing it, and again all was vanity and chasing after wind.

Anishinaabe (Ojibwe) proverb: Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while, a great wind carries me across the sky.

The Beatitudes:

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled;

Blessed are the merciful for they will receive mercy;

Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God. 

The advantage of being almost 80 is that from the perspective of an “almost finished” race, I know that the above are true. From my own experience. Not always the way I wanted them to be true. Often because when I did not follow where the compass was pointing, I got lost.

One of the spiritual tasks in life is discernment.

Learning how to separate wheat from chaff, figuring out the difference between babies and bath water, understanding that those who are disillusioned are those who start out with illusions, that being wise is better than being smart.

“So soon you get old,” my Grandma Mary liked to say, “and so late you get smart.”

As an almost 80-year-old I say, “Better late than never.”