Earlier this month , I was blessed to hit the Big 7-0. As I've aged, I've been calling myself a "young senior." Crossing this new decade threshold, I like a phrase I heard just recently: "chronologically gifted."
My wife was going to host a big party for me. I asked that we take a trip to see some of my best friends instead. I visited an "old" family friend, 93, and his wife. I visited a nephew, a fellow journalist whose work I've read since he was a kid, and his wife and their two beautiful children. I visited with a friend's daughter, my “niece” Lauren Rivers-Taylor. I remember bouncing Lauren on my lap. I was bouncing her kids on my lap. I didn't need a party. I needed birthday time with family and friends.
A recent podcast conversation challenged me. I heard someone talk about an African tribal chief whose village included families who relied on each other. They did things together. Even work. An anthropologist got to know the chief well enough that he invited him to his London home. After a week, the chief asked where he had been going each day. The guy said “work.” The chief asked: If his family is so important why did he leave them each day? Of course, he worked to make money to take care of his family. But I get the chief's point.
I continue to work because it challenges me, I enjoy it and I feel I'm making a difference.
Psalm 90:10 in the Bible suggests that we have about 70 years to live, and, if we are strong, we might have 80. There's no minimum life guarantee. There's no maximum. The idea is that we should live good, fruitful lives because, at some point, we die.
Life is a balancing act of choices.
More than 27% of those eligible for Social Security take it as soon as they can at 62, getting some of what they earned as soon as possible, perhaps for a longer time. More than 24% take it at 66. Fewer than 11% wait until 70-74, ensuring a larger monthly check. But for how long? There's no benefit to waiting beyond 70 to collect — even if you're still working.
My first check is coming soon. I can't wait. I had no idea when I got teenager paychecks that what I missed then, I'd be expecting now.
How much more time do I have to collect checks? I don't know.
Just for laughs and giggles, I tried The Death Clock.
Basically, you put in some key, honest factoids about yourself and — VOILA! — you get your likely death date.
I was truthful about my weight, lack of exercise and more with my first Death Clock pass. It predicted that I'll be gone in less than six years. More specifically five years, five months and 24 days — or late 2030. I admitted I've been a couch potato. My high school friend Bill Brousseau barely got to 160 pounds most of our time at St. Augustine High School more than five decades ago. He was 150 pounds when I visited him in northern Virginia. When I saw my college friend Ulysses "Jeff" Rivers in Hackensack, New Jersey, he looked about the same weight as he did when we were at Hampton Institute (now University) 40-plus years ago.
Clearly I ate too much too often and I stopped running far too long ago. I'm not close to my high school or college weights.
I took another couple of goes at the Death Clock. We lost my mom in her late seventies. My dad is 94. I thought I might be somewhere in between, with tweaks.
By promising to drop some weight, then more weight, and adding just some exercise, the Death Clock gave me much more time. Per the clock, if I lose enough weight, exercise and take better care of myself, I might live until I'm nearly 93 years old, just days shy of my birthday.
Seems the clock knows my counselor, my dentist, my dermatologist, my internist, my neurologist, my ophthalmologist, my podiatrist and my psychiatrist: It also tells me to eat less; avoid snacks; exercise regularly; drink plenty of water; take better care of my brain, eyes, feet, fingers, heart, internal organs and toes; get more sleep and live a less stressful life.
God hasn't promised me another decade, but He's sure making it clear that I've got to make good choices if I want that and more.