I’ve lived 105 years, and sooner or later, everyone asks the same thing. What did you eat? What did you drink? Did you take vitamins?
They want one secret. Something cheap, simple, something that can sit in a jar on a shelf. If I told them it was garlic, they’d be satisfied. They’d buy it and consider it done.
But I won’t fool you. I don’t know any recipe that grants a man 105 years. I can tell you about five things that, in my opinion, helped me hang on. Not all of them can be bought, and the most important one isn’t on a plate.
My name is Józef. I drove a bus for 39 years. First around town, then through the surrounding villages. I knew every stop, every pothole, and almost every woman who waved only when the bus was already pulling away.
The first thing, however, was on the plate. I ate plainly. In the morning: bread, an egg, or a piece of farmer’s cheese. At noon: soup, potatoes, groats, cabbage, beets.
Meat wasn’t an everyday thing because back then, it didn’t wait for you in the shop around the clock. If there was an apple, I ate an apple. If it was Sunday and Maria had baked a cake, I ate cake. Not three pieces.
One decent one. I didn’t know the word “detox. ” A man went to the toilet, and no one made a science out of it. But I didn’t eat mindlessly.
When I was full, I stopped. It sounds banal, but today people eat long after hunger has already left. I’m not saying to ignore your doctor. If he forbids something, listen.
Don’t try to prove who’s smarter at the table. But no single dish explains my 105 years. The second thing started at 6:00 AM every day. For years, the alarm rang before the neighbor’s rooster even remembered why he was kept.
I got up, washed, drank tea, and went out for the first run. A man had an hour, a route, and people waiting at the bus stop. Even on Sundays, I woke up early. The body doesn’t read the calendar.
I used to think that after retirement, I’d be happy. Finally, I’d sleep in. No obligation to go anywhere. No one complaining the bus was too cold or too hot.
The first week was pleasant. The second passed somehow. Then I started sitting in the armchair until noon. I didn’t see the point of getting dressed if I wasn’t going anywhere.
Maria would bring me tea and ask if I needed anything. I’d say no. One day, she looked at me and said, “Józek, you’re not resting. You’re slowly disappearing.
” I was offended. An old man gets offended most often when the woman is right and he has no good answer. And that brings me to the third thing. A patch of weeds by the raspberries taught me.
A few days after that conversation, I went out back to check the fence and saw everything overgrown by the raspberry bushes. I pulled one weed, then another. Then I brought a small bucket. An hour later, I had dirt under my nails.
My back ached, and I was breathing like an old steam engine. But for the first time in weeks, I ate lunch with an appetite. I didn’t go to the gym, I didn’t have a special outfit or a watch that counted steps. I went to the store, watered the garden, swept the front path, and carried the coal myself as long as I could.
Movement wasn’t my exercise; it was part of the day. To this day, I still try to walk a bit, just slower now. My legs sometimes act as if each one got separate orders, but they go. Before I tell you about the two most important things, I have to admit something people don’t like hearing.
I was lucky. My father lived to 92. My grandmother also passed 90. I was clearly given a body with strong hinges.
Some people ate more sensibly than me, moved more, and died earlier. Illness doesn’t always ask whether you did everything right. So I won’t give you guarantees. These five things aren’t a prescription for 105 years.
They’re just what helped me live once I’d already been given the years. The fourth thing is people. I had 58 years with Maria. In the mornings, she sat across from me at the table.
In the last years, we talked little, but after so many years together, you hear even what the other person doesn’t say. After her death, I closed off. My son Andrzej lives 40 minutes away. He called rarely.
There was always work, renovations, the kids, or something more important. One day, he said, “Dad, I’ll come over when things settle down a bit. ” I answered, “Son, I’m 105. Nothing is going to settle down for me.
Come now, or we’ll see each other at my funeral. ” He came on Saturday. At first, we talked about the roof, the weather, and the tea being too strong. The stuff men talk about when they’re afraid to say something important.
Finally, Andrzej said, “Dad, when I was little, I always waited for you to come back from your run. And when you did, you were so tired you had no time for me. ” I didn’t like hearing that. But I remembered Maria’s words.
A man can either take offense, or he can finally listen. I told him, “I thought that if I worked and provided everything for you all, that made me a good father. ” It was clear that wasn’t enough. “I’m sorry.
” We didn’t fix our whole lives in one afternoon. Those things only happen in movies. But since that Saturday, Andrzej visits more. Sometimes I call him first.
Pride is heavy; the phone is light. When a man has someone to say a few words to, it’s easier to open his eyes the next day. That leaves the fifth thing, the most important one. Every morning, you have to have at least one small reason to get up.
I truly understood this only after Maria died. On the first morning, I woke at 6:00, as always. I went to the kitchen, put on the water, and prepared two glasses of tea. Only when I placed them on the table did I remember Maria wasn’t coming anymore.
One tea was for me; the other went cold at the empty place. I sat for a long time. Then I thought maybe I had no reason to survive the next day. I didn’t want to harm myself.
I just saw nothing waiting for me anymore. And then, through the window, I saw a toppled flowerpot by the steps. Maria would never have left it like that. I went out, picked up the pot, scooped the dirt back with my hand.
Then I walked to the gate and a little further down the road. I didn’t suddenly feel happiness. The grief didn’t vanish. That evening, it was still empty.
But the next morning, I got up again. First for the flowerpot. Then for bread. Later, because the raspberries needed watering.
Another time, because I promised to call Andrzej. A man thinks he needs a grand purpose in life. I needed a small task for tomorrow. This morning, I woke at 6:00, made one tea.
The second I place only in my thoughts. I looked at the garden, checked that the pot was standing. Then I called my son and asked if he’d come on Saturday. I don’t know why I’ve lived to 105.
Maybe genes, maybe luck. Maybe simple food helped, a steady rhythm, ordinary movement, and people I didn’t entirely let go of. But I know why I got out of bed today. I had someone to call, and I had raspberries to water.
That’s enough for me.