On being 78.

I watched an interview today with a woman who was (and still is presumably) 78 years old. She was a spitfire and brilliant.

I'm thinking to myself how odd it is to reach that age. How far it is from my age. I can't imagine living another 40 years. It sounds so exhausting. 40 years. Even if I die at 60, that's another 30 years to my life. How daunting.

I can't picture it. I can't imagine myself, or what my life could be like, it all is too much. It's a mix of incomprehension and a stunted sense of moving forward.

If I don't feel here, how can I imagine myself anywhere else?

I think it’s because thinking of the future entails an investment in it. And I little to no investment, with little expectation of return.