Daily writing prompt
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?

Because thoughts become things.
Intention is essential.

— Laureli Ivanoff

At seventy-two, my thoughts on living a very long life
are necessarily different
than they were at forty.

I have lived long enough to watch friends fall ill
and die.
Long enough to witness the suffering born not only
of disease,
but of confused priorities—
of people unaware of their own unexamined lives,
their own lack of self-reflection.

Age has not narrowed my vision.
It has widened it.
I know now, to the marrow,
how small our petty dramas truly are—
including those perpetuated by others
in the name of protection, loyalty, or fear.
Attachments tighten.
Hearts close.
And the world shrinks to whatever we believe
will keep us safe.

Recently, an elder friend died—
not gently,
but drowning in her own body fluids.
She had traveled a great distance
to be near those she loved,
only to discover that once she arrived,
the surrounding dramas took precedence
over time spent simply being with her.

Many study expansive awareness.
Few practice it.
The lotus position does not prepare us
for the moment when compassion costs us
convenience.
Do we see how we affect others?
Do we care enough to look honestly
at our own failings?
Do we ever ask
what we might one day regret?

Those who live with eyes open—
who tend their bodies and spirits,
who choose joy despite having seen
the darker edges of human nature—
we become the elders.
We face the road ahead
with either quiet excitement
or unspoken dread.
We are the ones who must live with
the consequences of choosing longevity
in a culture that increasingly
marginalizes its aging.

Each morning, I wake with optimism
about what the day might bring.
At night, I fall asleep wrapped
in the steady love of my longtime companion,
secure in the knowledge
that our needs are met—
while so many lie awake
fearing how they will endure
the years ahead.

I look forward,
but not naively.
I know that any sunrise
may carry news of loss—
another passing,
another rupture.
If these thoughts do not visit you at forty,
trust me:
they will arrive
sooner than you expect.

And so—
be kind.
Be aware.

We are a small planet
in a vast cosmos,
yet our lives matter.
Our thoughts carry weight.
Our choices ripple outward.

Love unreservedly.
See one another clearly.
So that when the end comes—
yours, or someone you love—
there will be nothing left undone,
nothing left unsaid,
and no regrets
worth carrying forward.

Tide going out, Santa Cruz ~ 2017