It’s not so bad, says this correspondent. I may think I want to trade off longevity for a more vibrant today, but when the time comes for shuffling off this mortal coil, I might change my mind a little:
While I understand your statement, “Would you rather live till you’re 85, gradually sinking into torpor and sexual collapse or have a great time and conk out at 65? I guess for me, the choice is an obvious one,” I do want to interject an observation of my own. I, too, believe that there is more than a little Puritanism in the fields of medicine, diet, environment, etc., but I have found, as grow older, that there is no “OK” time to die (as long as I’ve had some big time good times, etc.). I am now 61. 65 looks a little too close to say, well, I’ve had my innings and they were good (they were in fact very good, better than most, I think). Frankly, 85, even with a little oxygen and a walker, sounds pretty cool to me right now.
That’s not to say that dying happy and in the prime of my senescence, so to speak, is somehow too terrible to contemplate. I am a believing Christian and I do believe that a better life awaits me. But as I grow older I keep finding things out, new things. I keep gaining new insights. I keep thinking and writing. I am now teaching at University (I don’t even have a college degree!). Things keep happening. I’m going birdwatching in Oz next Spring. And I am here to do and see and comment and understand. Or try to. I have a wife. I have nieces and nephews, a grandson.
I had a bout with cancer that left me a ball short of a pair. My testosterone is down some. I have to take pills. It’s not that I’m afraid, but that I don’t want to miss anything really wonderful that hasn’t happened to me yet. Even something awful could be pretty interesting (see testicular cancer, above). I saw a girl today that set me to fantasizing like a 19-year old. It was lovely, really. There is no “sexual collapse.” That’s a figment. Sex is a brainwave anyway. I’ve never stopped having sex.
So, I do hate the hectoring of the professional classes, the finger-wagging at my casual cigarette smoking, my intake of ice cream, my lack of proper exercise, etc.? Well, yeah. I do. I’m not intent on living forever anymore than you are. But there is no age that would be fine to die. I can’t see it that way anymore. Because as soon as I set an age, bang!, I’m two or three years away from it and not ready to go!
The Dish 