Lately, I’ve been looking at getting older a little differently.
I don’t see it as something slipping away anymore. I’ve started to think of it more like a 1943 Ford – still standing, still running, but with a few parts that have needed attention along the way.
And before anyone corrects me, yes, I know Ford didn’t make cars for the public in 1943. The war effort had them focused elsewhere, producing vehicles for military use. But a few were made, and the point is this – those machines were built to last, and the ones still around today didn’t get there by accident. They were maintained, repaired, and restored when needed.
That’s how I’ve begun to look at myself.
The Procedures I’ve Been Through to Date
If I take inventory, I’ve had my share of work done. There’s a screw in my knee from a skiing accident back in 1984. In 2012, I had a hip replacement. Around 2020, I started wearing hearing aids. In 2022, my gallbladder came out. And now, every three months, I go in for injections in my knees just so I can keep walking without pain.
If I laid all that out like a list of parts, it might sound like something’s gone wrong. But that’s not how it feels to me.
It feels like maintenance.
Body Maintenance Increases with Age
There was a time when I didn’t think much about my body at all. It just did what I asked of it. I walked where I wanted and moved without thinking much about it. I gave very little thought to the idea that one day, things might need attention. I think most of us live that way for a long time – assuming everything will just keep working the way it always has.
Then, little by little, things change.
It’s not always dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a stiffness that doesn’t go away, or a sound that gets harder to hear, or a movement that reminds you something isn’t quite the same. You start to notice the wear.
And, at first, I think there’s a tendency to see that as loss.
But somewhere along the way, my thinking shifted.
Turning Toward Positive Thinking
Instead of focusing on what had changed, I started noticing what was still possible – and more importantly, what was being made possible.
That screw in my knee? It kept me going after an accident that could have stopped me. That hip replacement? It gave me back movement I was starting to lose. The hearing aids? They brought voices and sounds back into focus. The gallbladder surgery? It solved a problem that wasn’t going to fix itself. And those knee injections every few months? They give me something I don’t take lightly anymore – the ability to get up and walk without pain.
I don’t look at those things as signs of breaking down. I see them as reasons I’m still moving.
The pain is real. There’s no pretending it isn’t. And recovery can take time. There are moments when you wonder how many more repairs might be ahead, or how long the current fix will hold.
But there’s something else that sits alongside that – gratitude.
I’ve Found Gratitude
Not the loud kind. The quiet kind.
The quiet realization that we’re living in a time where there are options – real, tangible options – that didn’t exist for the generations before us.
Our grandparents didn’t always have these choices. A bad hip could mean the end of mobility. Hearing loss might simply become silence. Chronic pain was something you endured, not something you managed with ongoing care. When something wore out, there often wasn’t much to be done.
That’s not the case anymore.
Today, there are people who know how to repair what needs repairing. There are treatments that can extend movement, ease pain, restore function. There’s technology, medicine, and knowledge that give us a chance to keep going in ways that weren’t always possible.
I don’t take that for granted.
This Is a Modern-Day Gift
At 83, I’ve thought about surgery again. It’s an option. And maybe one day I’ll take it. But for now, I’m choosing the path I’m on – those regular visits, those injections that let me walk out of the office and back into my life with a little more ease.
That feels like a gift.
I’m not trying to be new again. That’s not the goal. I’m not looking to turn back the clock or pretend the miles haven’t added up.
I’m just trying to keep running.
Like that old Ford, I’ve had some parts replaced. Others have been adjusted, tuned, or supported along the way. I don’t move quite the way I used to, and I probably never will again.
But I’m still moving.
And there’s something meaningful in that.
Recognizing We Need to Pay Attention to What We’ve Been Given
When I think about it now, getting older doesn’t feel like a slow disappearance. It feels more like a process of learning how to care for what’s been given to you – recognizing when something needs attention, accepting help when it’s available, and appreciating the fact that you’re still here to do it.
There’s a kind of dignity in that, if you let yourself see it.
Maybe you’ve had a few parts replaced yourself.
So yes, I may be a 1943 Ford these days.
Not fresh off the line. Not without a few stories in the dents and repairs.
But still on the road.
And for me, that’s enough.
Let’s Chat:
What maintenance have you had thus far? Are you contemplating additional options? Do you find yourself being disappointed in how your body is performing – or are you being grateful about everything you’ve been given?
