There was a time when I didn’t give much thought to living a very long life.
Back then, my only real concern was not leaving Lizzi behind without a dad. As long as I could get her to adulthood, anything beyond that felt like bonus time. I wasn’t in a hurry to leave—but I wasn’t especially invested in staying, either.
That’s changed.
Over the last ten years or so, I’ve come to realize that life really is worth living—and I’m not in any rush to exit it. I love Daryl. I love Lizzi. I love Sully. And I already know I’m going to adore my granddaughter when she finally arrives. The people in my life make the days matter. That alone is reason enough to want more of them.
Add to that my work.
Teaching has surprised me. I genuinely love my students, and I’ve enjoyed the process of learning in order to teach. If I’m honest, I think I’ve learned at least as much as I’ve taught. Every year sharpens something—patience, humility, perspective. The classroom keeps me awake to the world.
And then there’s writing.
I’ve rediscovered my love for it. These daily posts keep my tools sharpened, my voice exercised, my thinking honest. I’m looking forward to working on my next novel—and hopefully the many others I’ve been quietly storing up. As long as there are stories to tell, I feel unfinished in the best possible way.
But there’s another side to this question, and it deserves honesty too.
I’ve seen what life can look like when someone has overstayed their welcome—not socially, but existentially. When purpose thins out. When dignity erodes. When living becomes maintenance instead of meaning. At that point, longevity can start to feel less like a gift and more like something haunting.
I can’t control whether that happens to me. None of us can.
What I hope for—what I quietly pray for—is that when my time comes, I’ll be able to leave without abandoning my dignity. That I’ll recognize when the story has reached its natural end. That the final chapters will still sound like me.
For now, though, I’m staying put.
There is love here. There is work to do. There are words still waiting to be written.
And that makes a long life not just appealing—but meaningful.
Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.
