Letting Go

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”   (Dylan Thomas, 1914—1983) 

Bad advice from poet Dylan Thomas.  I want these next however-many-year’s journey into that good night to be gentle and relatively quiet, no raging.  I’m trying to successfully navigate old age.  So far, for me, aging is not about rage.  It’s about “letting go.” 

Physically, I must let go.  There has been a slow and steady progression of body parts and functions that don’t work as well as they once did, and I’ve let go of the hope that they’re going to get better.  Joints ache.  Reflexes are slower. Healing and recovery take longer. Sleep is lighter, naps are more frequent and energy declines.  Through all this I have recognized an important new sense of self. I am not my body.  I’m merely housed within this aging and sometimes inconvenient structure. 

The first draft of this blog I write while resting in bed, with a pair of crutches at my side.  I have a small tear of my right lateral meniscus.  There was no trauma to my knee, no past injury.  I just took a bad step.  I have degenerative changes in my knee, ‘degenerative’ being a brutally frank word for the erosive physical toll of old age. Now, with my new bad knee, I will let go of those activities that might cause further damage to the joint.  I can still be active and mobile.  I can walk, cycle, swim, and most importantly fish. 

Materially, I am letting go. I’m getting rid of ‘stuff’.  A few years ago, we moved from our home in St. Louis, to a townhouse apartment in Kansas City.  In the process, we let go of 2 trucks worth of extraneous furniture and other assorted items.  I don’t miss any of it.  In fact, it was quite liberating to let go of so much unneeded baggage.  There is very little I don’t already have that I need or want. I am ready to get rid of more. 

Professionally, I’ve let go.  With retirement, I let go of 35 years of clinical practice.  I no longer use the skills I acquired over so many years of life experience. I let go of the respect and dignity that came every day, walking into the office, being greeted by my title, Dr. Boxer.  I let go of the security of a paycheck. 

But letting-go has its upside.  In the years prior to retirement I let go of any concerns I had regarding evaluations and the expectations of my employers.  I went to work and did it my way.  With retirement, I let go of paper work, bureaucracy, liability and the morning alarm clock. 

Psychologically, I let go of dreams, of all that I once thought that I could do or become.  In my youth, in my residency, I wanted to be the best. I half-jokingly hoped that one day they would speak of Freud, Jung and Boxer.  All-in-all, I am proud of what I accomplished professionally, but my lifework will remain relatively anonymous. 

But for a very sore knee, I am not unhappy. With every letting-go, there is a bit of grieving, but that’s followed by the calm of acceptance and gratitude.  And my life remains uninterruptedly blessed with loving and understanding family. 

How do I prepare for the ultimate letting go, the journey into that good night?  By grieving if needed, followed by acceptance and gratitude, followed by letting go when I must. No raging.