Turning 65: A Medicare card and a reminder to listen and learn through the golden years

Is it fair to say that we tend to fixate on our needs even more as we age? People say to me, “It’s human and part of the drill,” as we enter the golden years — or, as one friend likes to calls it, “The great countdown.”

I listen all the time to congregants sharing stories about coping with the challenges and joys of their longevity. I have had these conversations with my parishioners since I was in my 20s. I listened and nodded back then, indicating that I understood what they meant and the wisdom of their insights, even when I could not fully comprehend their feelings.

Recently something happened, and I still have not figured out what to do about it. I opened a letter from the Social Security Administration, and there it was, staring straight at me without any emotion or drama. It was as if the letter said, “Hey you, put this card in your wallet now. You’re a member of the new club.”

Yes, the Medicare card finally arrived at my home. And now I look at it and wonder; “What does this mean?”

Forget about all the solicitation letters and the broker I am working with to determine what coverage I am supposed to sign up for, and what supplemental programs are the best. Everyone is an expert, and I’m told, ”You have to watch these prices, Rabbi, because they change every year, and you have to be on top of it.” I thought I was supposed to enjoy and not stress these years?

I am not the young rabbi anymore. I am a grandfather, and my parents are gone, and now I’m the elder generation. Sound familiar?

So how do I turn my aging into “sage-ing,” a spiritual practice designed to bring joy and contentment?

I just finished “Still Foolin’ ‘Em,” a book by the comedian Billy Crystal, which he wrote in 2013 when he turned 65. He talks about coming to grips with his mortality and the premature death of his father when he was 15. I felt like I was reading a roadmap for what I am experiencing now. All of this because of a Medicare card?

Crystal woke up on his 65th birthday and yelled out in horror at the bathroom mirror. “I look like Uncle Al!” I laughed, because someone recently came into my office and looked at a picture of man in an army uniform and asked, “Rabbi, I didn’t know you were in the Army?”

I smiled and said politely, “Oh no, that is my Dad when he was in World War II.” The person remarked, “Oh my, you look like him.”

Trust me when I say that aging and sageing are interconnected. I am listening to my congregants just as much today if not more so. But the truth about aging and sageing is listening to ourselves and the inner voice that speaks and waits for us to pay attention. The Psalmist wrote,”Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” (90:12). This is what I am talking about!

Communities such as Hilton Head are great places to listen to and learn from the models of living in the golden years. They stay active, keep the creative skills going strong. They spend time with the grandchildren, volunteer in the community, go to a house of worship, and learn new ideas about ancient truths. They take trips, give to charity, worry about the world and the politics of government.

Let’s not forget the other activities: going to doctors, purchasing cemetery plots, attending funerals, taking care of a spouse, overseeing investments, enduring surgery (especially knee and hip replacements), dealing with aches and pains and chronic illnesses, sometimes including cancer, heart disease and dementia. And the list goes on.

If I am really listening to my congregants more, I wonder if God is really listening to me. Does God really care about what I do or what I think and what matters to me in my life now that I am gray haired? I know that Social Security cares enough to send me this card. I wish God would send me a card saying, “You’ve made it to senior adulthood, so enjoy it all because you earned it.” I could show the card to my children and grandchildren to reassure them that I do have something wise to share, and they should listen to me.

My Medicare card is still on the dining room table, not yet in my wallet. That card is a label, but it does not define my inner essence. It opens a door to what I hope will be the best medical care I can get, care I have worked for like everyone else over the years.

At first, that Medicare card hit me like a hammer. But each day it is becoming like a gentle Tibetan bell that chimes ever so softly, asking me to pay attention to what is going on around me in a different way than before.

I’m working on finding that heart of wisdom every day. How about you? Now I’d better put that card in my wallet before I lose it!