15 Summers

"Nobody told you what a drag it was getting older. Or at least if people did tell you, you didn't listen because... they were old."

-Mick Herron

I turned 60 recently. And yes, if it hasn’t happened to you yet, the feeling can generally be described as "wait... seriously? That can't be right.”

I saw this T-shirt the other day. I thought "yep, that pretty much nails it."

But, lacking any real alternative, you make what peace you can with it and move on, usually to a third drink.

Some of us also take stock in our life's journey and begin to ponder “The Last Chapter.”

I have always lived impatiently. If there was something I wanted to do, I did it as soon as possible (though admittedly, in the case of misplacing my virginity, there were many unanticipated delays involved). Travel was generally at the top of that list and it remains so. There are other things on the so-called bucket list as well.

But here’s the thing my friends—it’s not all going to get done. Not by a long shot.

I reckon that, optimistically, I have around 15 summers. That's 15 summers to travel. 15 summers to write that novel that I know is in there somewhere (though I suppose I could squeeze that one in during a winter). And just 15 summers to sit on the deck with a Manhattan, pontificating to those that I bribe with Manhattans to provide an audience.

Why 15 exactly? Biology mainly.

The males in my family did not pitch into the late innings. Definitely more of a throw some heaters and turn it over to the bullpen approach. I suppose I could have bolstered my genetics with clean, healthy living in the hopes of eking out a few extra years above the average, but that would have required the wisdom of someone much older. Or to quote Mickey Mantle: “If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”

So even if I assume that some terrible disease doesn’t take me off the trail even sooner, I'm guessing that I have about... 15 summers, give or take, of the kind of health you need to get after it. And when you say it that way, as in "just 15," and you really think about what a comically small number that is, you suddenly realize that time really is of the essence:

• 15 Buds is not enough beer for 3 friends on a boat

• 15 minutes is not enough time to watch an episode of Friends

• 15 games is less than 10% of the baseball season

Here's the point: It's not so much the specific number 15, or whatever number you might conclude that you have. The point is that whatever the number, it's small and finite. And the summers always seem to go so fast already...

So, when you hear me say "15 Summers" I am not making a morbid complaint about life's merciless brevity; it's a rallying cry. LFG... as the kids say. Forget Carpe Diem, it's Carpe Momento. I'm not even buying green bananas anymore.

It's also a ready excuse to spend money that you "probably shouldn't."

Here are a few of the things on my 15 Summers List:

• Pull Stanley up to Alaska and see my 50th state

• National Parks in the Andes and Patagonia

• Albania (not exactly sure where it is, but it sounds lovely)

• Fjords of Norway

• Ski in Austria & Italy (and yes, that one is in winter too)
  

• More family reunions

• Meeting more dogs (outreach, healing)

• More Manhattans (in Manhattan)

• A Porsche 911. A wildly impractical car. You can't even fit your golf clubs into the "frunk" (it's a rear-engine mount, so the tiny trunk is in front). But c'mon, just look at it!

What's on your list? How many summers do you figure?

(Also, it's probably best that you don't share this post with my children. They may be hoping to inherit more than just my memoirs. And to that, maybe don't mention the automobile to my wife. I want to surprise her.)