Mike Lombardi, in his newsletter “The Daily Coach” told this story:
The late, great country music singer Toby Keith was on the golf course with his hero, actor, director, and Academy Award winner Clint Eastwood.
Eastwood told Keith between shots that he was heading to Augusta, Georgia, in the morning to begin shooting for his new movie, “The Mule.”
Upon arrival in Georgia, Eastwood would star, direct, and produce the movie, all at the tender age of 88. Keith was surprised to learn that Eastwood had the bandwidth and energy to handle the rigors of directing and acting.
The question running through Keith’s head was how Eastwood could keep his motivation levels so high. Eastwood told Keith that he needed to keep moving, stay highly active, get outdoors, and enjoy the fresh air, and then said something that made Keith pause and take note:
“You can’t let the old man in.”
Keith later wrote a song called “Don’t Let the Old Man In.”
I love this admonition.
I love it so much.
I can’t stop thinking about it.
“Don’t let the old man (or woman or person) in” warns against complacency, stagnation, and expectation.
It says, “You only get old if you let yourself get old.”
It screams, “Live like a young man, and you will remain a young man.”
It demands that you constantly look to the next horizon. Seek new challenges. Do new things. Do hard things. Don’t slow down. Keep moving forward into uncharted territory. Never stop.
“Don’t let the old man in” reflects a desire to live each day on your feet, in the company of others, doing things, going places, and making things. It’s an absolute rejection of the sofa, sleeping in, and slowing down.
“Don’t let the old man in” warns that a day will come when you need to slow down but fight it. Don’t simply slow down because the number of times you’ve traveled around the sun has reached a certain number. Get the most out of every mile your body and mind will allow.
“Don’t let the old man in” demands that you avoid spending your days talking about how you’re getting older, how rapidly the world has changed, and how you miss the good old days.
“Don’t let the old man in,” says, “These are the good old days, damn it. Just as long as you allow them to be.”
I know people—good friends—who have “let the old man in.”
It’s a damn tragedy.
In his song, Toby Keith offers his own suggestion:
“Ask yourself how old you would be if you didn’t know the day you were born.”
Brilliant.
Keith asks, “Do you feel your age? Are you acting your age? Are you living like someone your age?
It’s such a fascinating question. An important one, too.
I spend enormous amounts of time in the company of people younger than me. Many of these younger people are my students who I berate daily by saying, “I am four decades older than you, and I have more energy than all of you!”
Disappointingly, they often agree. Rather than opposing my statement and proving me wrong, they resign themselves to the fact that their teacher seemingly has more energy than them.
Some of them seem to be “letting the old man in” at the age of ten. Surrendering to a man five times their age. I’ll have to tell them to stop “letting the old man in” this year.
Many friends and colleagues are a decade or more younger than me, but I rarely notice the age difference. I may seem older to them based on my experience, life history, and other monikers of age, but I certainly don’t feel older, and I don’t seem to have any problem keeping up with them or exceeding their output.
How old would I be if you didn’t know the day I was born?
Perhaps my late twenties or early thirties? I have no aches or pains, sore back, or worn-out rotator cuff. I bounce out of bed every morning with a skip in my step and a genuine excitement about the day ahead.
I can’t wait to get out of bed every morning.
While playing laser tag around our home with Charlie last week, he said, “Dad, you don’t need to dive on the ground or throw yourself into a bush. You’re not in a movie.”
Sounds like an old man to me.
I’m certainly a slower runner than I was when I was younger, but I was also running a hell of a lot more back then, so maybe if I got off my bike and returned to the street, I could be nearly as fast once again.
My calcium scoring—a measure of plaque in your arteries—was done last week, and the result was another zero.
“No identifiable plaque in the patient’s arteries.”
Even better:
“Calcium score of 0 places the patient in the 0th percentile rank. This means that 99.99 percent of males at this age will have a higher calcium score than this patient.”
Even my arteries are crushing it.
My cholesterol and blood pressure are low. I don’t take any medications daily. I lost 34 pounds last year and have lost two more this year.
Besides actually getting a calcium score (something I wasn’t doing in my twenties), I like to think I haven’t slowed down from the version of myself two or three decades ago. In fact, I may have sped up.
And yes, genetics certainly play a role in how you live your life. You also need to avoid the unavoidable diseases and unfortunate accidents. You need, at least to some degree, to get lucky to still be as productive as Eastwood at 88.
Toby Keith tragically died of stomach cancer just three months after performing “Don’t Let the Old Man In” at the People’s Choice Awards.
Sometimes, it’s simply your time.
It’s convenient and perhaps trite to say that age is a state of mind, but that doesn’t make it untrue. Eventually, certain body parts will wear down, and a sore back, a creaky knee, or a nagging case of tennis elbow may strike, but even then, “Don’t let the old man in.”
Take some Advil. Get some physical therapy. Grit your teeth and move on. Have surgery if you must. Switch from tennis to pickleball. Do whatever you can to keep moving forward into unknown, uncharted territory.
We may not all be still going strong at 88 like Clint Eastwood, but we can try like hell to avoid settling into a routine, setting up shop on the couch, shrinking our world, and slowing down.
“Don’t let the old man in” is a mantra to guide our lives. It will ensure that every year of your life—despite the number affixed to it—is lived to its fullest.
