The issue of ageism trends across social media these days, with folk asking how old is too old? Since I’m a septuagenarian, I do know a bit about the process of aging. First and foremost, it’s an individual thing, even though statistical gurus like to lump everybody together and figure out the average. Adults are evaluated on a standardized scale, much like our children are on standardized tests. Certainly, there are cognitive tests to identify comprehension, psychosis, Alzheimer’s, and other psychological issues, but these are usually administered individually.

Fortunately, for me, my synapses are currently firing on every cylinder. I’m assured of that by my ability to work the Sunday crossword in thirty minutes or less, and the fact that my trivia team has yet to remove me from the roster. I’m further bolstered by my visual acuity, attention to detail, and my GPS that I can safely drive a car, grocery shop, and host large dinner parties. I’m proud that even during the pandemic, I never had groceries and stuff delivered to my door. I got out of my casa and fended for myself.

When it comes to physical things, I’m about half. I can do some, but not others. And some things I never could do, like I never could really dance, do a cartwheel, or dive into the swimming pool. I ride a bike, tend to a garden, mow the lawn, play pickleball, swing a bat, climb a ladder, and walk around the neighborhood. No longer, can I lift more than 25 lbs. of salt into the water softener, open a jar of pickles or bottle of sports’ drinks, nor put my large carry-on in the above plane bin. My upper arm strength lives with Jesus.

I also conscientiously no longer do some things. For example, I use services, i.e. landscaping, pool maintenance, and housekeeping. I’ve no desire to fire up my chain saw, fight off algae, or scrub the bathrooms.

In sum, I have no interest in following a rigid schedule. If I had experience in world politics, I have the cognitive skills to lead, but I no longer have the patience to get up early and dance the night away. In short, age is not the sole determinant of anyone’s cognitive ability to lead or govern. (My great grandmother lived to be 104 and was “with it” until a week before her death.)

Over the next four months, we will be inundated with the issue of age, instead of an in-depth focus on platform, moral integrity, and character. My concerns about climate, international relations, poverty, and education will be virtually ignored. And even after the event yesterday, so will the issue of gun control. Stop worrying about how old I am, and start listening to my voice.