There comes a time when you stop thinking about the future too much. For most folk that comes when they pass age 60, but for more optimistic souls like myself, it’s 70.
Having just passed that milestone, and noting the sad demise of (far too many) old friends, often younger than myself, there is a temptation to ponder my own mortality.
Not that I have done particularly much to extend the potential, of course, during a largely dissipate lifetime but I take solace in those of my peers who remain whole, and apparently hearty.
Exchanging views on the meaning of life with Malcolm Steinberg (CEO, Leisure and Allied Industries, Australia) last week, he cheered me immensely, noting: “You think you’re old? I turned 70 three years ago.
"The first thing I do every morning is get out of bed, go to the bathroom, look in the mirror and say 'oh my God, it's good to see you'. Then I check the obituaries in the newspaper and if my name is not there, I know I'll have a good day.”
Such heartwarming positives make my day. And then we have Lennie Ainsworth (chairman, AGT, Australia), celebrating his 90th in Sydney. He didn’t respond to my desperate plea for solace, but then I learned that he’d had a fall at home and dislocated his shoulder which has resulted in major surgery. That means I won’t get the usual glitterati of philosophical gems from his keyboard that my messages usually encourage.
Others among my elderly confederates assure me that the keys to almost-but-not-quite immortality are a young missus and keeping working.
That should sort out the next few years.
