It had been over 20,000 steps shown on my fitness tracker when I returned home the other day after joining an outing held by the retiree association of the company that my wife used to work for. Frankly, I was a little worn out.

I did not know what would happen to other fellow participants, who were also the spouses of the retirees like me. Both of them were already in their mid-80s, eight years older than I am. But all I know is that they walked the whole way without any assistance, not even a cane. They are hale and hearty, and I do admire them.

Yesterday I had a feast with some of my relatives and their friends. A cousin of mine pointed at a gentleman who was speechless but always had a smile on his face and wanted us to guess how old he is. That gentleman is in good shape, with nearly intact black hair. He also has a smooth complexion without any visible liver spots. Everybody said that he may be between 60 and 65, but the answer was astonishing. He is 95! Later, someone told me that the gentleman had had demantia. (No wonder he was so quiet and always smiling, and the one sitting next to him must inhibit him from eating too much.)

Aging well is one of the most fortunate things that can happen to anyone.