Thoughts on turning 68, from the montañas rurales of La Cienega de Gonzales, Nueva Leon, Mexico. Our winter home for the next few months.

I’ve spent very little time in the past contemplating death. Now I find thoughts of my inevitable demise creeping slowly and more frequently into my psyche. I find this particularly true whenever I experience the loss of a family member or a friend, which seems to be increasingly common these days. I feel that it’s important to have an awareness of death for a couple of reasons: it compels me to live in the moment, and it helps me to be less fearful and more accepting of this unavoidable life event.

As expressed on previous occasions, I’m not a religious person. I became chronically sceptical of all things ending with “ism” in my early teens. My devoutly Christian mother was disappointed, but was compassionate and intelligent enough to allow me the freedom to choose my own metaphysical journey. My father was anti-theist. He introduced me to the thoughts and writings of Carl Sagan and Issac Asimov, who I came to admire early in life.

Our family spent a lot of time in what we called, “the church of wilderness.” We frequently went camping, canoeing, hiking and swimming in the forests, streams and lakes of Michigan, which served as our outdoor cathedral and was our form of spiritual awakening.

I have many religious friends who I love and respect greatly. Still, I marvel that anyone believes in an eternal existence somewhere in the heavens, above the clouds, away from the prying eyes of the rest of us here on planet Earth. Moreover, I question why we rarely see a happy surviving friend or family member of a lost loved one who harbors this belief. If the deceased is now living perpetually in Heaven, which is supposedly a far superior existence than anything on this planet, why not celebrate this golden opportunity for the departed?

As a nonbeliever, I actually do believe in a more simplistic, less mystical form of eternal existence. When we share our positive life lessons, show compassion, give aid and comfort to others, they then have the opportunity to pay it forward. This form of human interaction becomes a perpetual cycle of sharing and a completely rewarding, never-ending afterlife.

It’s common for all humans, particularly us elderly folks, to wonder what happens to our conscious being after the physical ceases to exist. I suspect it has to be one of two things; either we embark on an amazing journey into an unknown existence, or, there is nothing after death and it won’t matter. I am completely comfortable with this simple concept. Both options compel me to live fully in the moment.

As I reflect on how my current aged life affects my passion and physical ability to climb, I can’t deny that I’m in a gradual decline physically. The routes I project now have to be steeply overhanging, which typically make the holds larger and less tweaky for my ancient, arthritic fingers. It also creates the opportunity to use more core strength by adding knee-bars and full body movement and such. A strong core is one area that geezers can still train and use effectively. Movement on harder routes has to be well rehearsed and often requires weeks or even months of refinement to achieve a successful outcome. Patience is the name of the game. The redpoint challenge increases with age and so do the rewards. Although success is incredibly rare now, when it occurs it’s exponentially more memorable than the more frequently triumphant days of yore.

On a perfect geriatric climbing day, my body feels like it did when I was twenty-something as I effortlessly float through sequences of hard moves. These rare occasions have become extremely condition dependent. It requires a temperature of 62.5 degrees fahrenheit with 57.5% humidity to function optimally. Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but truthfully, when you’re a member of the geriatric class, it’s much more difficult to heat or cool the body during harsh weather extremes. Adaption to global climate change affects us immensely.

As the indubitable process of ageing continues and I embark on my sixty-ninth journey around the sun, I embrace and savor life. I marvel at the gradual physical changes taking place, like the graying of hair, wrinkling of skin, loss of muscle mass, arthritic joints, waning eyesight, increased need for recovery time after exertion, and occasional forgetfulness. I accept all of these things, knowing they are unavoidable traits of a finite biological being’s existence. In exchange, I embrace the mountains of wisdom gained along life’s wonderful path. It’s an overwhelming worthy trade.

Vivir el momento!

~ Chuck

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