“Old men worry. Get a hobby. Might need a therapist!”
My cardiologist recently told me this after a semi-annual checkup. I know I’m nearing the end of a well-intentioned life, measured with celebrations as well as disappointments. Seven decades does that. But as I reflected over what he said, the nexus of my life came into better focus.
Some insights: Mean no when you say “no.” Thank those who have served in the military for their patriotism, not their service. Thank people who serve you in restaurants with tips, not just words.
In the ever-changing fabric of society, my doctor’s words resonated as I continue to find some relevance since I recently retired as a speech professor. My last 18 months I taught from home, using Zoom. I’d recently started teaching a class on Heroes. It became my signature class till my retirement.
Having seen more in the last decade than the previous six, I worry where our democracy is headed. I don’t have an answer to where it might go, but as I see more and more young people taking positions, I wished I’d taken years ago, I find hope. Still, as an old man I worry.
I worry about my health. That’s why I got vaccinated for COVID-19. See my doctors regularly. I write to my sons periodically. I want them to have something tangible to hold on to after I am gone.
I worry. Who doesn’t? But I also have hope.
Get a hobby? I almost laughed when he told me that. My wife had told me the same thing, and having worked most of my life, it was hard to realize how entrenched I had become in the calling of teaching. It was more than a career. As a teacher, I never thought beyond the classroom. I’d etched many students’ lives. Many now give me hope. One of my hopes is that those students I reached will take to heart some of the truths I shared. My hobby has become finding ways to give back. But, again, I worry. Writing has become my hobby. Your readership has become my new investment.
Giving back is essential to our nation’s survival. I hope I can channel a bit of hope that will inspire others to vote like stakeholders in a country that is theirs.
We have the power to change things realizing we can galvanize others to make things better by being better. The writer Maya Angelou told us to “do the best you can until you know better; when you know better, do better.” Hold hands and do better. That’s a hobby each of us could take up and share.
The last bit of my doctor’s advice — see a therapist — was significant because, as he shared with me, when many men my age see the twilight of their lives beckon, rather than talk about it, they go into a shell. They lose their soul. Many become depressed. I won’t deny that, but I’m still here. I mentioned this in an earlier piece, Kitiki # 17, when I talked about men and depression. I’m able to walk a few miles in my own shoes. Although I worry a bit, I know I can still have an impact. That’s where talking to people comes in, but it doesn’t have to be a therapist. It could be a friend, family member, or God. What matters is you are still here. You have time to get into some good trouble. Realize as I did, “I’m the difference I want to see in the world.”
So, as I left my doctor’s office, I understood it was OK to worry. I would commit to inspiring others to vote. I would talk about my fears, because they are not unique. I would hope others realize this is a perilous time, they still have skin in the game and democracy can still win as long as we vote.
Thank you for reading “The Man with The Key.” This post is public so feel free to share it.
Note: Portions of this appeared in San Antonio Express News 6 November 2022
Fellow Old Man, Sage advice indeed And, as always, well said, Doc. So, this definitely resonates with me. I’m thankful to have music—playing regularly with friends regularly as well as seeking out real live music wherever we go—and over the years I’ve seen therapists. But as we’ve discussed, I highly recommend joining a men’s group that meets regularly for the camaraderie as well as moral support and, yes, therapy of sorts. I’ve been part of one group that meets weekly for 35 years and another that meets every 2 weeks, by zoom and then in person, for about 7 years. I am so bonded to the former bunch, Cody knows to call them if I’m showing signs of distress I’m not picking up on. They’ve saved my life. Seriously.
Timely advice. After my heart stopped in March I slowly became aware of the aging question and accompanying depression. “S**t, I AM getting old”. Not sure if it’s age, PTSD or medication side effects, but the journey begins to finding out