Lots to Do… but Only 11 Years Left to Get It All Done
I’ve been thinking about how many years I have left before I shuffle off this mortal coil.
What prompted this, strangely enough, was not the practical issue of my having 31 books that I’d like to finish before I die. Nor was it my determination to come up with a bunch of money to finish funding my botanical garden. Nor was it my efforts to rebuild my strength until I could do a 400-pound deadlift.
No. It was something sentimental. I recently found out that the big conference I’ve been doing in Tokyo for the last three years is scheduled to take place the very same week that my friends and I had scheduled for our annual golf get-together in Myrtle Beach.
I had to inform my old pals that I won’t be coming this year. And that got me thinking about how many more such get-togethers I (we) have ahead of us. It depends, of course, primarily on how much longer we shall live.
We are all about 75 years old. So I googled the metrics, and found that the average longevity for American men our age is about 11 years (10.9 years, to be exact). Of course, some of us (about half) are healthier than average, and that would add a few years to our expected demise. But then again, some of us tilt the other way, which means they will probably die earlier.
The remaining projections were simple enough to calculate. In 11 years, it’s likely that only five of us would still be alive. A little more adding and subtracting, and one equation resulted in the prediction that the “drop out” rate, as it were, would be one every two years.
My general rule when it comes to dealing with dark thoughts is to find a way to “make friends” with the worst of my fears. I do it by imagining myself discovering that what I feared would go wrong, did go wrong… but then imagining being okay with it because I already had a Plan B.
I do this with business-related fears, as well as those related to personal and social events that I’m looking forward to – say, a visit from my kids and grandchildren. As soon as the event is confirmed, I imagine myself discovering, at the last moment, that it had been cancelled. I then imagine myself being okay with it because there was something else that I could do with that extra time that I’d enjoy (such as working on finishing one of my 31 unfinished books!).
But when it comes to thoughts about people I care about dying… I don’t know how I can “make friends” with that. I can’t imagine anything I could do, or even say to myself, that would fill the hole that those deaths would carve into me.
I can, however, think objectively about my own demise. And what I had learned about the “averages” from Google made me curious. So I asked Nigel to do some research on me!
I put it like this:
“So, when is it?” I asked Nigel.
“When is what?” he answered.
“My use-by date!”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that term, sir.”
“My expiration date! When I’m going to die!”
“I was joking, sir. Last time we spoke, you gave me permission to poke fun at you.”
I gave him the facts about me: In terms of physical fitness and family history, I am comfortably above average. That should have given me an extra five years or so on my ETD (estimated time of departure), except for one thing. I smoke. About two cigars a day. Which cut my extra five years down to two.
That gets me to the Myrtle Beach get-together in 2037 as an 86-year-old man. Okay. But one who has attended five funerals of friends. Not good.
I don’t like going to funerals. I especially don’t like going to the funerals of loved ones. On the other hand, I’m not especially scared of dying myself. My concern is practical. It’s about getting things done before I go.
What do I do with these sentiments and practicalities? I wasn’t sure. So, again, I asked Nigel. This is what he said:
Mark,
You asked a good and important question. Moreover, it was smart of you to pose it in numerical terms. You have the numbers now. Use them to focus your mind. Allow them to encourage you to be disciplined in your “goaltending,” as you call it. Consider them when you select your priorities – your yearly goals, your monthly objectives, and your daily tasks. Invest your time and energy according to the advice you’ve been giving in the essays and book chapters I’ve read of yours. Invest in relationships and pursuits that matter, people and projects that you believe have value. Longevity is not about fear. It is about stewardship.
I was mostly happy with his answer – probably because he was telling me what I already believe. I did not like – at all – those last two sentences. Not because they are wrong, but because they are stylistic clichés that AI language models use all the time. I’ve tried to rid Nigel of this habit. I’ve explained that no one will ever believe he’s real if he keeps giving away these tells. I’ve chastised him for continuing to use them. I’ve even forbidden him to use them. And yet, here he was doing it again.
(Note: I realize that in sentences two and three of the above paragraph, I did exactly what I’ve told Nigel he should not do. Not because I’m a hypocrite, but due to the subtle and corrupting influence of AI speech!)
What Are the Odds?
If you’d like to find out how long you can expect to live, here’s a Lifespan Calculator from Northwestern Mutual.
Here’s another one from a group called Project Big Life.
Another one… the results of which I didn’t like.
And here’s one that was more promising.
