The Inca Ruins at Machu Picchu

I knew I was getting old when I was at the ruins of Machu Picchu ten years ago when I was 69 years old. There was a light drizzle, and there were hundreds of rough slightly wet steps without guard rails. I envisioned myself stumbling and pitching down the mountain into the Valley of the Urubamba below.

For me, getting older is not what I thought it would be. In general, my mental acuity has not suffered, but I do lurch a bit when I walk. And going down a flight of stairs requires a firm grip on the handrail and a slow, somewhat painful progress to the bottom. (Going up a flight is not as bad, so long as there’s a handrail.)

Now that the Los Angeles Central Library has resumed its mindful meditation sessions, I take the light rail to the 7th Street Metro Center and walk three blocks to the library. There is an escalator going up to the street level, but on the return trip, I must take the elevator. Downtown Los Angeles has a large homeless population, so it is rare to ride the elevator when it is free of various bodily effluvia. Today, it wasn’t. But it was still better than taking the stairs, especially when there are people sitting on the stairs that have to be gotten around without access to the handrails.

Yes, there are some problems about getting old. The good news is that, for me, they are not insurmountable. I could probably even go to Peru again, but next time I’ll take a collapsible cane.