Taking away the car keys

When I took my mother's car keys away, she cursed at me. I'd never heard my sweet, churchgoing mom use language like that in my life, but she couldn't accept that at 85, her fading vision, hearing, and memory made her unsafe at any speed. I was reminded of the day Mom followed me to the door, shouting "Give me those #@ $&%! keys back," when Joe Biden spent several weeks insisting against all evidence that he was fit to serve four more years. Giving up the most powerful and prestigious job in the world, obviously, is more painful than losing access to the Camry. But the denial and the anger are fundamentally the same. Getting old, I've found, demands a succession of surrenders. You can accept these losses with some grace and rueful resignation — or go to war with the inevitable. Pro tip: You can't win.

I'm still more than a decade from Biden's stage of life, but if I put on my glasses, I can see the shape of it on the horizon. Behind me, the path is long and littered with losses large and small. Joints worn out from years of running, basketball, softball, and typing take turns complaining, and the mirror reveals a graying old guy I sometimes do not recognize. Too many loved ones and friends are gone. Last year, after 22 years as editor-in-chief of this magazine, I stepped down from full-time work so I could have more time to travel, to enjoy our new home in our new community, to kayak and cycle and walk and play more, to savor the passing days and sunsets over the river. Fortunately, I still get to continue to contribute to this fine magazine. It's worked out as I hoped, but the surrenders continue. The best strategy, it appears, is to accept them and fall back behind a new line of defense, and prepare for the next assault. I know how you feel, Mr. President. When they come for my car keys, I suspect I, too, will curse.

This is the editor's letter in the current issue of The Week magazine .