Ten years left to live: Cancer-free, but life is not the same as it was - opinion

What would you do if you had just 10 years left to live? How would that change where you spent your time and what you chose to do?

Layer on top of that the natural effects of aging, and I’ve begun to let go of the idea that I’ll still be here at age 85 or 95. Instead, I’m increasingly considering that 75 would mark a mighty fine lifetime.

But I do wonder how many new clients I should seek in my waning years. I already get disability discounts and soon there will be US Social Security and a National Insurance Institute pension on top of savings, private pension, and sabbatical funds. I won’t stop writing, dear readers, but maybe I’ll put more time into personal projects, including several new book ideas that should keep me alert and engaged.

When I asked friends what they’d do if they felt that they had just a decade left to live, the answers ranged from the mindful – “try to do something meaningful every day” – to the hedonistic: “Skip cardio and weights, eat whatever I want, and spend more time in nature.”

Some waxed philosophical – “I’d want to live each day as if it were my last” – to the prosaic: “I’m 84. I may not have another 10 years. I plan to live every day doing what I want without overly worrying about living long.”

A GOOD friend whom I worked with 30 years ago in the US is “in remission” (his air quotes) from pancreatic cancer. He put together a web page with an “unbucket list.” It included getting a pilot’s license, skydiving (hey – I’ve done that – twice!), and buying a custom-tailored suit in Indonesia.

My own bucket list is filled with travel ideas, too. There are whole continents my wife, Jody, and I have never been to. Could we take off every couple of months? Would my body tolerate such a grueling schedule? Can we take it easy and minimize the long hikes we used to value?

Then I wonder, nihilistically, what’s the point of checking places off a bucket list? When you die, does any of that matter?

Moreover, frequent travel conflicts with the number one item on my list – and the top one for most of the folks I asked – “Spend more time with family.”

Jody and I have three children and two grandchildren (so far). We adore them all and are joyfully aware of how incredibly fortunate we are that they all live within walking distance. We spend time with them as often as possible.

Still, I find myself grasping.

In 10 years, our oldest grandchild will be just past his bar mitzvah, and our granddaughter will be celebrating her bat mitzvah. I should be able to make it until then. But it will be at least another decade until the first gets married. And what about any potential weddings of our two unmarried children? Will they find their special someones before our time together is up?

I get it. We haven’t even gotten to Israel’s own fall elections, but if the “wrong” party (fill in your own blank) forms a coalition, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach where this country could go.

The rest of the world isn’t looking particularly welcoming either. The evil genie of antisemitism has been uncorked, and I don’t foresee a vaporous return any time soon.

SINCE I’M NOT planning to go anywhere, imagining that the only “leaving” I’ll be doing is vacating this body in 10 years provides some ironic cold comfort.

Although I can envision, on my deathbed, crying out, “But I don’t know how it all turns out!” Will Iran nuke us? Will AI enslave us as batteries in a virtual reality pod? Will flying cars ever happen?”

I remember fretting, back when I was obsessed with Lost, of being afraid of having a fatal heart attack and never knowing if the castaways get off the island. Now, it’s: Can Carol stop the “others” in Pluribus? And why are there so many silos in Silo?

I think I’ve taken the conversation too far into the absurd. The point is not to worry about FOMO in an afterlife that I don’t believe in.

I’ve lived a good life. I have a wonderful family, a strong marriage, and somehow, 31 years ago, Jody and I made that fateful decision to immigrate to Israel and throw our lot in with the rest of our fellow crazies.

Whether it’s one, five, 10, or – gasp – even 20 years, I can’t, in all honesty, complain too much about the past. And I will do my best to be grateful for every day, despite all the aches and pains. ■