Some Lessons from Aging

"It's Not Dark Yet, But It's Getting There"

Jul 10, 2026

Move to the left, old boy, says the dodgy-looking Sherborne gent, as he rushes past me on the sidewalk.
Would you like this seat, sir? says the young girl on the London tube with a solicitous smile.
Any recent falls? asks every intrusive registration form at a new doctor’s office.

These kinds of questions seem to be occurring more and more frequently.

Why?

What’s the story?

You’d think I was an old man or something!

Sure, ok, I walk slower than I used to. What’s the rush?

And sure,

I’d love that seat on the tube, young lady. My knee and shin pain is so relieved as soon as I sit down.

But no, Doc, I haven’t fallen in the last many months. Except about five or six times on the electric bicycle on flat roads in the French Alps.

And who cares if I use handrails on all the stairs I climb these days? That’s what they’re for, right?

And so what if I’m going to turn 79 this August, just over a month from now?

Age is just a number, right?

At least that’s what almost everyone tells me when I choose to tell them the truth about my age.

You ask,

Why lie about it, being such an honest and sincere dude your whole life?

Well, as I’ve written before, I remember my Dad telling me on his 55th birthday, when I was just 25,

I can’t believe that I’m 55 years old! In my mind, I still feel like little Joey Trules.

I never forgot that for the rest of life, as I annually added one more year to my personal chronology.

“Forever young”.

And especially now, almost 79, the same age that my Mom died from a brain aneurysm and sudden stroke.

I’ve been watching a bunch of one-person, autobiographical YouTube videos on a site called “Honest Aging”. Most of the speakers have gray or white hair and wrinkles. Lots of wrinkles. Sort of like me. They’re in their 70s or 80s, and they’re giving viewers wise and hard-earned advice about things they’ve learned in their old age. Or at least in their “elder years”.

Things like:

I’ve learned how to stop pleasing people. How to say no. How to stop caring about what most people think about me. How to cherish my own time.
I’ve learned that at my age, my energy is limited. That I have to protect it. That I enjoy my own company far more than I do going to parties or just seeing people out of obligation. I’ve discovered that I can live alone, be self-reliant, and not feel lonely.
I’ve learned to keep my business to myself. That most people are not truly interested in the real me, my happiness, or my well-being. I now choose who I give my love and attention to far more carefully.
I’ve learned to prioritize my health, my finances, my time. Not to compare myself with others. To value my privacy.

Lots of other things in the same vein. No advertising on the site. Nothing for sale. Worth spending my time watching. Because if there’s one thing I have more than enough of on this post-divorce journey - it’s time.

I can stay in the house (not even “my own”) all day long.

Wake up. Meditate. Exercise (a bit. Lol). Enjoy the quiet. The silence. The emptiness.

Make breakfast – yogurt, berries, sugar-free granola. Coffee with milk and sugar-free stevia (sweetener). Usually no bread. Water, anti-diabetes herbal drops, about 5 different meds – for blood pressure, cholesterol, gout, depression, diabetes type 2.

Who says I’m old?

A far wiser than I, poet-songwriter, said several years ago, at approximately my age now,

It’s not dark yet, but it’s gettin’ there.

I always loved that line, yet when I shared the song with my younger sister, she told me that it was a “morbid” song.

Of course, that’s the beauty of music and personal taste; everyone has their own reactions, their own dislikes and favorites.

Some people don’t like the dark side, while I… have always been drawn to it. Attempt to make art from it.

It’s similar to how “friends” reacted to me during my 9-month ordeal with cancer in 1989. Some “friends” avoided me altogether, as if my cancer was contagious, or perhaps, they had an association or fear of it that they didn’t want to confront. While other “friends”, and even strangers, came out of the woodwork to love and support me.

Different folks, different strokes.

But “dark”?

Of course.

My legs are so much weaker than they used to be - when I was a modern dancer, a recreational athlete, an improv teacher. These days, I don’t think I can jump more than an inch off the ground.

My friends and acquaintances are dropping like flies. Not to be “morbid” or funny, I read about it every day on Facebook.

I can’t play tennis anymore because I can’t cover the court; I had to reluctantly switch to pickleball, and even now I can’t play for more than an hour, when I used to play for two.

Being retired for almost a decade and so far from “home”, housesitting around the world, things that used to be important to me, no longer are: work, schedule, routine, ambition, accomplishment, marriage, homeowning, owning things at all, especially security itself… of which I, seemingly, have none. I live day to day, my future completely unknown.

Yet, that’s the very light on the dark edge of the horizon. Before “the end”.

I’m still healthy enough to travel, and like I’ve always said since I had my cancer, “health comes first”.

I still maintain friendships and connections with people who have stood my test of time.

I’ve let go of a lot of baggage and responsibility.

I still wake up with curiosity and enthusiasm for each new day.

I have more peace of mind and spirit than I’ve ever had before.

I’m still writing.

What more can I say?

Mr. Dylan said it in one line.

We often turn away from the parts of our stories that feel dark or heavy, yet it is in those very depths that knowledge, peace of mind, and wisdom begin.

So “cheers”, as they say here in the merry old English summertime,

From the light and dark at the edge of the horizon,

Trules

Eric Trules' Substack

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