Somewhere in the middle of my seventies, I realised that I liked being old.
Or, to be more accurate, I liked being old, in good health and extremely lucky. Indeed, I had liked it for years without acknowledging the fact. Yes, there were definitely some downsides, I wouldn’t argue about that. But there were also huge compensations, which I really wasn’t expecting. Since there are numerous books about the many physical and emotional demands of ageing – the trials of being the carer of someone you love, the experience of widowhood, the survival of life-threatening diseases, to name a few – I wanted to write a celebration of being older.
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