As I approach my 91st birthday this December, I often find myself reflecting on what it truly means to age well. It’s a question I’ve asked silently during quiet mornings, after a good game of bridge, or while sitting still, waiting for the ache in my legs to ease. Aging, I’ve come to realize, is not simply about counting the years — it’s about finding peace and meaning within them.
I live with Stage 4 Chronic Kidney Disease. It’s a reality that has changed the rhythm of my days, but not the purpose of my living. I still write my daily blog — a small ritual that keeps my mind awake and my heart engaged with the world. I still play bridge and Mahjong five times a week, because even as the body weakens, the mind thrives on connection, laughter, and strategy. And I still try to move, even when pain accompanies every step, because movement — no matter how small — reminds me that I am still here.
Mindfulness, to me, has become the quiet art of being fully present with what is, not what was or might have been. I no longer chase the past or worry too deeply about what comes next. Instead, I find comfort in the stillness of the moment — in the way sunlight filters through my window, in the soft hum of morning sounds, in the rhythm of my own breathing.
When you are young, mindfulness can seem like an abstract idea — a luxury for the calm or the curious. But in the ninth decade of life, mindfulness becomes a necessity. It teaches patience with your body’s limitations, gratitude for small pleasures, and compassion for yourself as you navigate the long, slow unfolding of age.
Some days, I find my thoughts drifting back to my years at the FDA, or to the chaotic aftermath of 9/11 when I stood among those who were simply trying to make sense of loss. Those memories ground me in perspective — they remind me how fragile and precious life is, and how deeply human it is to endure.
Writing has been my companion since 2009, but in recent years, it has become my form of mindfulness — a way to touch the world with words, to stay connected even when the body grows tired. Each post I write is a meditation on gratitude, resilience, and purpose.
So yes, aging is an art. It’s not a science of diet and exercise alone, but a quiet acceptance of impermanence — balanced with a fierce commitment to stay alive in the spirit, curious in the mind, and open in the heart.
To those who read my words — younger or older — I say this: Don’t wait for illness or time to teach you what mindfulness can. Be present now. Listen deeply. Cherish the moments that make you feel truly alive.
Because aging well is not about defying time — it’s about embracing it, one mindful breath at a time.
A Closing Note to My Readers
As I continue my writing journey, I want to thank each of you — old friends, new visitors, and quiet readers from around the world — for walking this path with me. Your presence, your comments, and even your silent visits remind me that words can still build bridges, even across generations and distances.
I write not just to share thoughts, but to stay connected — to life, to memory, and to you. Every post is a small piece of my story, and I am grateful that you’ve chosen to share in it.
Stay mindful. Stay kind. And remember — every day we wake up is another opportunity to live fully, no matter what our circumstances may be. With gratitude, David
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