As I sit, reflecting on the passage of time—or perhaps more accurately, the ravages of it—a familiar internal conflict arises. Life around me is vibrant, full of energy and potential, yet I find myself grappling with an unease I can’t quite shake. It’s not the restlessness of youth or the anxiety of new beginnings; rather, it’s the quiet struggle of reconciling the person I once was with the person I am now. I’ve learned that life isn’t just about where we’re headed; it’s also about accepting the inevitable changes that come with each passing year, whether those changes are the effects of aging or the challenges of facing illness. We are changing, nonetheless.
In my youth, I lived for the thrill of adventure, seeking the next challenge—skiing across treacherous terrain or embarking on kayaking expeditions. I believed my identity was built on physical strength, endurance, and the conviction that I could tackle anything. But as the years have passed, I’ve had to confront the limits of that identity. My body now reminds me of its boundaries with every creak and twinge. Where I once leapt into action without hesitation, now I calculate risks, weighing whether my current capabilities match my desires. More often than not, they don’t.
It’s easy to feel a sense of loss—the man who once thrived on physical prowess now faces small battles in everyday tasks. Getting out of bed, walking up a hill, or carrying something heavy feels like a test of will. I look in the mirror and see a body that no longer reflects the person I feel like inside. My mind is eager, my spirit ready, but my body has chosen a different path. That gap between desire and capability is hard to accept, but it’s not impossible.
Here’s what I’ve realized: life is a continual process of becoming. We don’t stay who we were at 25, 45, or even 65. Part of the journey is embracing those changes, even when they feel uncomfortable or unfair. My physical limitations don’t negate the experiences I’ve had or the strength I’ve built over the years—both within myself and in my relationships. Strength now comes from within: mental fortitude, positivity, and resilience.
The challenge today isn’t pushing my body to the extreme; it’s about adapting, accepting, and redefining what strength means to me now. It’s about aligning my desires with what I can realistically achieve, without feeling diminished by the changes in my abilities
I used to scoff at tourists who sightsee from buses, wondering how much fun that could really be. Now, I understand they’re doing the best they can with what they have, just as I am. Instead of being critical, I applaud their spirit—the same spirit that drives me to see the world in whatever way I can.
I once thought identity was fixed, forged in youth and carried through life unchanged. Now I see it as fluid, evolving with each challenge. Who I was as a young adventurer is still part of me, but I’m also the man who has survived illness, faced depression, and learned that some battles are fought not with physical strength, but with resilience, patience, and acceptance. Of course, there are aspects of my identity that will remain constant—how I view integrity, honor, and intellectual curiosity—but the rest is always in flux.
Each new phase of life brings its own challenges, but it also brings its rewards. I’ve learned to appreciate quieter victories: the mornings when I choose to get out of bed, the simple joy of a walk, a conversation with a friend, or a sunset that I take time to fully absorb. These moments hold as much meaning now as my epic adventures once did.
We all carry the weight of our past selves, and it’s tempting to measure ourselves against those earlier versions. But the real journey, the one that truly defines us, is learning how to let go of those comparisons and embrace who we are now. Strength isn’t just about the body—it’s about resilience, adaptability, and the willingness to face change with an open heart. There’s grace in accepting the body as it is today and recognizing that limitations don’t define our worth. It’s not about giving up but living fully within the scope of what’s possible and finding joy in that.
At 68, I’m realizing that life isn’t just a series of physical challenges to be conquered. It’s an ever-changing landscape where we navigate both our desires and our realities. There’s freedom in that recognition. Instead of mourning what I’ve lost, I honor what I’ve gained—the wisdom, the experience, and the understanding that life’s true adventure isn’t measured in miles or feats, but in how deeply we experience the moment.
It was never my physical capabilities that led to success—I was never the best skier, kayaker, or cyclist. But I was good enough. It was my mental fortitude—the willingness to try, fail, and try again—that carried me through. Now, I need to tap into that same strength to embrace this journey of dealing with terminal illness. Accepting change isn’t about surrendering to limitations; it’s about recognizing that life and identity are always evolving. My strength has never been solely about physical ability, but about determination, resilience, and the courage to face new challenges, even when they come with bruises—both physical and emotional.
Now, as I stand on the threshold of this new chapter, I realize the adventure is far from over. It just looks different. I may no longer climb the steepest peaks or race down the most treacherous slopes, but that doesn’t diminish the experiences ahead of me. The thrill comes from witnessing the world, feeling its wonders, and living fully within my current reality.
This journey is no less significant than the ones I took in my youth. In fact, it’s more profound because now it’s not about the destination or physical feat, but about the wisdom gained along the way. The greatest adventure isn’t defined by how far or fast you go, but by how deeply you experience each moment. In the end, life is just a collection of moments. Why not embrace and enjoy each one for what it offers?
And so, I will continue to explore, to seek, and to discover—whether by foot, chairlift, or whatever means will take me there. Because the greatest adventure of all is learning to embrace who we are becoming, and finding joy in every step of the journey, no matter where it leads.
I may still visit the Arctic polar region, the Rockies, or any place on my bucket list, but with a different mindset. I’ll find alternate ways to get there—maybe taking in the view from a chairlift instead of hiking to the top. And when my legs can no longer carry me, you’ll still find me there—where the horizon stretches wide, taking in everything the journey has to offer. Because no obstacle is too great to keep me from that view, from the moments that matter. However I get there, I’ll always find a way.
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