Since my seventieth birthday I have assiduously avoided mirrors. I find it is better for me not to remind myself of my appearance, for it belies my inner man.
This is not to say that I have the boundless vigor and flexibility of youth, but I certainly feel better than the shrunken visage of sparse white hair and sagging skin my barber tries to show me.
But what of the myriad youthful ambitions that shaped me and drove my life? Let me say that a swimmer who has safely reached the shore doesn’t pine for the struggle of nearly drowning.