At 96, flipping through his 2016 date book, retired New York Times editor Robert W. Stock looks back at the past decade and how it's changed...everything.
Your ability to hold both loss and love is inspiring. Not everyone is this brave. Or realizes that love and joy are only fully accessible if you allow yourself to mourn. This beautiful piece is such a good reminder. Thank you! ♥️
As I sipped my green tea early this morning, a breath of fresh air flew in while reading your heartfelt words. I am touched by your personal awareness and ability to share your vividly colorful and varied memories. The memory of your dear daughter Barbara brought tears. Barbara is lucky to have had you as her loving and sensitive dad.
Loss of the ability to think clearly; to express creatively; and to speak coherently are far greater concerns to me than my bodily machine winding down like a clock that can’t maintain its accuracy.
Thank you. I turned 75 in November. I woke up this morning regretting "being old." It is a shock to the system to realize that some aches and pains won't go away. I am wondering how much I want to travel and whether my travel plans will have to change, maybe accommodate my not-as-strong body. Reading your post helped me remember that with some luck our bodies will do what we tell them to for as long as possible; and our intellect, curiosity, imagination, and emotional intelligence remains intact.
At 72, I don't feel old. I run with my dog every day, usually 2.7 miles, sometimes 3.6 miles, and occasionally, when I'm in a hurry for some unrelated reason, 1.8 or 0.9 miles. (The track around Arlington Reservoir is .9 miles.) Last night, figuring out about how many days of the year I don't run, I calculated that I run around 920 miles/year. Not nearly as far as I used to bicycle annually (3650 miles). My estimate on cycling is that I've done 65,000 in my life, including on trip from Seattle to Boston, but I haven't put much effort into figuring out my mileage. 65k is something of a guestimate. And in fact, a little figuring and calculating just now suggests that 65k may be low.
When he was 99, an uncle of a friend of mine still bicycled 20-30 miles every day. Until one day, when he went out like a light (dropped dead). I could be down with that!
Also, probably a year ago I quit eating anything that's bad for me, and eating a lot of what's good for me--vegetables (especially leafy greens), fruit, whole grains, beans... I don't miss the unhealthy stuff. I don't even miss ice cream, which in my younger days, I'd refer to as "America's favorite food," along with bacon, which I also don't miss.
David, at 77 ->78 I don’t feel old either and I recognize that could be dangerous to my well-being; not in terms of consumption of the either quantity or choices, but being overconfident of abilities - eg, climbing ladders to reach that just out of reach thing. I applaud your running/walking - same favorite exercise although my passion for aggressive hiking is more problematic. Anyway here we are.
My inherited caution genes help keep me safe. My parents put seat belts on the '57 Chevy in 1961, long before they were required. We likely had the first Peugeot station wagon in France with rear shoulder harnesses. My father, an academic economist, showed the guys at the factory how they could be installed. And I had one of the first Bell hard shelled bicycle helmets--if my memory is accurate about this purchase from half a century ago, I had serial # 7022. I had to mail order that helmet back in 1975. I got it just before I rode my bicycle from Seattle to Boston. Around 16 years later, that helmet did save my head--on Sept. 6, 1991.
And I've written and published two articles on bicycle safety. In both cases, part of the impetus for writing them was to give myself knowledge that would help me avoid trouble.
I hope it did! The whole safety thing sounds boring, nerdy even (no disrespect to your father, just common perspective, I think). Until, it saves your life or keeps your brain in the original factory container. Which one learns over time.
At 66, thirty years younger than the author, it was a kind and gentle look into a future I’ve been pretty anxious about reaching, but this essay brought me hope that aging is not all doom and gloom but moments of joy and remembrance to be treasured.
The ending of this lovely piece walloped me. I didn’t see it coming. I’m old enough to have lost many friends, which seems to me the hardest part of aging. In your 90s you are old enough to have an old child, and the ultimate loss becomes more likely. On a positve note, I’m impressed that Robert stock was still going to Europe and driving to Niagara Falls at 86. By that age many people aren’t going anywhere.
Yes indeed those memory lane strolls are filled with all the feelings for sure..beautiful, touching, tearful and heartfelt with a smile..all comes through this writing..thank you for sharing your stroll with us.
Beautiful and poignant. At 87 I feel it's what I have to look forward to, if I make it another 10 years (which somehow I doubt). Health and mobility issues, losses, the sense that the world is rushing ahead and leaving us oldsters behind with its algorithms and AI…it's all difficult to handle…but not as difficult as losing a child. An adult child that I've been fortunate enough to witness growing up and fully becoming who she is, beautiful, accomplished, compassionate. For me this would be the ultimate loss, the one I do not think I could recover from or survive. And yet, I see those who do, and still seem to find purpose in facing the next day. Even the changes from 80 to 87 have been huge, although I'm still working seeing a dozen or so clients in my psychotherapy practice, published two small memoirs last year, and got a puppy––the triumph of optimism! (Truth be told, she has an alternate mom who has promised to take her when I go and is a loving and caring presence in her life.) I do not, like some, feel irrelevant as I age. To sit outdoors in the sun with a cup of tea, watching my puppy play without worries, seeing the miracle of another spring with its blooms and sweet smells––these are my great pleasures these days, replacing travel, fine dining, social events. And looking back at a life to which, in all, I can give five stars.
I love this and from the age of 72, feel very cheered by the vision of Stock's active 86! He may not be going on safari at 96, but he's still writing a damn good essay. I wish this for myself.
Robert were you the NJ section editor around 1994ish? If so, and I hope it is, I did a bunch of freelance stories for you over the course of a year or two before you were transferred or retired, and we met once in NYC for lunch. Unfortunately I never kept my diary books and of course no emails from that period. But I still have the clips and the good memories.
Delighted! I still have most of those NYT clippings in a box. I was so disappointed when you left. Great to reconnect and I loved the honesty and perspective of your essay.
You appear remarkably the same in both pictures. So it surprised me to find that your infirmities have become more pronounced after reading your essay. Being ten years younger than you, I hope to age as well as you. And to have your wisdom about the denigration of one's abilities. My before and after pictures will not be so kind as yours.
Incredible mix of heartbreak and triumph, tenacity and acceptance. Into decades myself, this says it all.
.
Your ability to hold both loss and love is inspiring. Not everyone is this brave. Or realizes that love and joy are only fully accessible if you allow yourself to mourn. This beautiful piece is such a good reminder. Thank you! ♥️
Thank you both for writing and publishing this valuable piece. At 80, I'm just beginning to understand what's written here and what might lie ahead.
As I sipped my green tea early this morning, a breath of fresh air flew in while reading your heartfelt words. I am touched by your personal awareness and ability to share your vividly colorful and varied memories. The memory of your dear daughter Barbara brought tears. Barbara is lucky to have had you as her loving and sensitive dad.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Thank you.
<3
Loss of the ability to think clearly; to express creatively; and to speak coherently are far greater concerns to me than my bodily machine winding down like a clock that can’t maintain its accuracy.
A stunning piece of writing. Loved it.
Thank you. I turned 75 in November. I woke up this morning regretting "being old." It is a shock to the system to realize that some aches and pains won't go away. I am wondering how much I want to travel and whether my travel plans will have to change, maybe accommodate my not-as-strong body. Reading your post helped me remember that with some luck our bodies will do what we tell them to for as long as possible; and our intellect, curiosity, imagination, and emotional intelligence remains intact.
At 72, I don't feel old. I run with my dog every day, usually 2.7 miles, sometimes 3.6 miles, and occasionally, when I'm in a hurry for some unrelated reason, 1.8 or 0.9 miles. (The track around Arlington Reservoir is .9 miles.) Last night, figuring out about how many days of the year I don't run, I calculated that I run around 920 miles/year. Not nearly as far as I used to bicycle annually (3650 miles). My estimate on cycling is that I've done 65,000 in my life, including on trip from Seattle to Boston, but I haven't put much effort into figuring out my mileage. 65k is something of a guestimate. And in fact, a little figuring and calculating just now suggests that 65k may be low.
When he was 99, an uncle of a friend of mine still bicycled 20-30 miles every day. Until one day, when he went out like a light (dropped dead). I could be down with that!
Also, probably a year ago I quit eating anything that's bad for me, and eating a lot of what's good for me--vegetables (especially leafy greens), fruit, whole grains, beans... I don't miss the unhealthy stuff. I don't even miss ice cream, which in my younger days, I'd refer to as "America's favorite food," along with bacon, which I also don't miss.
David, at 77 ->78 I don’t feel old either and I recognize that could be dangerous to my well-being; not in terms of consumption of the either quantity or choices, but being overconfident of abilities - eg, climbing ladders to reach that just out of reach thing. I applaud your running/walking - same favorite exercise although my passion for aggressive hiking is more problematic. Anyway here we are.
My inherited caution genes help keep me safe. My parents put seat belts on the '57 Chevy in 1961, long before they were required. We likely had the first Peugeot station wagon in France with rear shoulder harnesses. My father, an academic economist, showed the guys at the factory how they could be installed. And I had one of the first Bell hard shelled bicycle helmets--if my memory is accurate about this purchase from half a century ago, I had serial # 7022. I had to mail order that helmet back in 1975. I got it just before I rode my bicycle from Seattle to Boston. Around 16 years later, that helmet did save my head--on Sept. 6, 1991.
And I've written and published two articles on bicycle safety. In both cases, part of the impetus for writing them was to give myself knowledge that would help me avoid trouble.
I hope it did! The whole safety thing sounds boring, nerdy even (no disrespect to your father, just common perspective, I think). Until, it saves your life or keeps your brain in the original factory container. Which one learns over time.
Lucky you!
At 66, thirty years younger than the author, it was a kind and gentle look into a future I’ve been pretty anxious about reaching, but this essay brought me hope that aging is not all doom and gloom but moments of joy and remembrance to be treasured.
See my post, two above yours.
The ending of this lovely piece walloped me. I didn’t see it coming. I’m old enough to have lost many friends, which seems to me the hardest part of aging. In your 90s you are old enough to have an old child, and the ultimate loss becomes more likely. On a positve note, I’m impressed that Robert stock was still going to Europe and driving to Niagara Falls at 86. By that age many people aren’t going anywhere.
That’s for sure, Rona. That set the bar for me in the next half doz or so years, God willing and the creek don’t rise
Yes indeed those memory lane strolls are filled with all the feelings for sure..beautiful, touching, tearful and heartfelt with a smile..all comes through this writing..thank you for sharing your stroll with us.
Beautiful and poignant. At 87 I feel it's what I have to look forward to, if I make it another 10 years (which somehow I doubt). Health and mobility issues, losses, the sense that the world is rushing ahead and leaving us oldsters behind with its algorithms and AI…it's all difficult to handle…but not as difficult as losing a child. An adult child that I've been fortunate enough to witness growing up and fully becoming who she is, beautiful, accomplished, compassionate. For me this would be the ultimate loss, the one I do not think I could recover from or survive. And yet, I see those who do, and still seem to find purpose in facing the next day. Even the changes from 80 to 87 have been huge, although I'm still working seeing a dozen or so clients in my psychotherapy practice, published two small memoirs last year, and got a puppy––the triumph of optimism! (Truth be told, she has an alternate mom who has promised to take her when I go and is a loving and caring presence in her life.) I do not, like some, feel irrelevant as I age. To sit outdoors in the sun with a cup of tea, watching my puppy play without worries, seeing the miracle of another spring with its blooms and sweet smells––these are my great pleasures these days, replacing travel, fine dining, social events. And looking back at a life to which, in all, I can give five stars.
The specificity of the the loss is a vivid reminder...of what to appreciate now at 60.
I love this and from the age of 72, feel very cheered by the vision of Stock's active 86! He may not be going on safari at 96, but he's still writing a damn good essay. I wish this for myself.
Robert were you the NJ section editor around 1994ish? If so, and I hope it is, I did a bunch of freelance stories for you over the course of a year or two before you were transferred or retired, and we met once in NYC for lunch. Unfortunately I never kept my diary books and of course no emails from that period. But I still have the clips and the good memories.
The very same, Ruth. Best wishes to you and yours.
Delighted! I still have most of those NYT clippings in a box. I was so disappointed when you left. Great to reconnect and I loved the honesty and perspective of your essay.
Small Oldster world, if so!!
You appear remarkably the same in both pictures. So it surprised me to find that your infirmities have become more pronounced after reading your essay. Being ten years younger than you, I hope to age as well as you. And to have your wisdom about the denigration of one's abilities. My before and after pictures will not be so kind as yours.
This is... well, I can't find the adjective, so must settle for saying this is beyond moving and inspirational!