At 105 years old, almost everyone who talks to me eventually asks the same question. What did you eat? What did you drink? Did you take vitamins?
People want one secret. Preferably something cheap, simple, and easy to keep in a jar on a shelf. If I told them it was garlic, everyone would be satisfied. They’d buy garlic and consider the matter settled.
But I won’t lie to you. I don’t know of a recipe that gives a man 105 years. What I can tell you is about five things that, in my opinion, helped me not leave this world earlier. Not all of them can be bought, and the most important one isn’t even on a plate.
My name is Józef. For 39 years, I drove a bus. First around town, then through the surrounding villages. I knew every stop, every pothole, and almost every lady who only waved when the bus was already pulling away.
The first thing, though, was on the plate. I ate simply. In the morning, bread, an egg, or a piece of cottage cheese. At noon, soup, potatoes, groats, cabbage, beets.
Meat only occasionally, because back then meat didn’t wait for you in the store around the clock. If there was an apple, I ate an apple. If Maria baked a cake on Sunday, I ate cake. Not three slices.
One proper one. I never knew the word “detox. ” A man went to the toilet, and no one made a science out of it. But I didn’t eat recklessly.
When I was full, I stopped. That sounds obvious, but today people keep eating long after hunger has already left. I’m not saying to ignore your doctor. If a doctor forbids something, you listen.
You don’t prove at the table who’s smarter. Still, no single dish explains my 105 years. The second thing started every day at 6:00 in the morning. For years, the alarm rang before the neighbor’s rooster remembered why he was kept.
I got up, washed, drank tea, and left for my first route. A man had an hour, a route, and people waiting at the stop. Even on Sundays I woke up early. The body doesn’t read calendars.
I used to think that after retiring I’d be happy. Finally, I’d sleep in. No need to go anywhere. No one complaining the bus was too cold or too warm.
The first week was pleasant. The second passed well enough. Then I started sitting in my armchair until noon. I didn’t know why I should get 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 got offended. An old man usually gets offended exactly when a woman is right and he has no good answer. And that brings me to the third thing. The weeds by the raspberries taught me.
A few days after that conversation, I went out back to check the fence. I saw everything had overgrown around the raspberries. I pulled one weed, then another. Then I brought a small bucket.
After an hour, I had dirt under my nails. My back hurt, 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 a gym.
I didn’t have special clothes or a watch that counted steps. I walked to the store, watered the garden, swept in front of the house, and carried my own coal while I still could. Movement wasn’t exercise for me. It was part of the day.
Even now, I try to walk at least a little, slower these days. My legs sometimes act like each one got separate orders, but they move. Before I talk about the two most important things, I have to admit something people don’t like hearing. I was lucky.
My father lived to 92. Grandma also passed 90. Clearly, I got a body with strong hinges. Some people ate more sensibly than me, moved more, and left earlier.
Illness doesn’t always ask whether you did everything right. So I won’t give you a guarantee. These five things aren’t a recipe for 105 years. They’re just things that helped me live when I’d already been given the extra years.
The fourth thing is people. I lived with Maria for 58 years. In the morning, she sat across from me at the table. In the last years, we didn’t talk much, but after so many years together, a man hears even what the other person doesn’t say.
After she died, I closed myself off completely. 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 once things settle down a bit. ”
I answered, “Son, I’m 105 years old. Nothing is going to settle down for me. Come now, or we’ll meet at my funeral.
”
He came on Saturday. At first, we talked about the roof, the weather, and tea being too strong. In other words, we talked about everything 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 route.
And when you came back, you were so tired you had no time left for me. ”
I didn’t like hearing that. I remembered Maria’s words. A man can either get offended, or he can finally listen.
I said to him, “I thought that since I worked and you never lacked anything, I was a good father. Clearly, that wasn’t enough. I’m sorry. ”
We didn’t fix our whole life in one afternoon.
Those things only happen in movies. But since that Saturday, Andrzej visits more often. Sometimes I call first. Pride is heavy, but 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. And there’s the fifth thing, the most important one. Every morning, you need at least one small reason to get up. I truly understood this only after Maria’s death.
The first morning, I woke up at 6:00, as always. I went to the kitchen, put on the water, and prepared two glasses of tea. Only when I set them on the table did I remember that Maria wasn’t coming back. One tea was for me.
The other was going cold beside an empty seat. I sat for a long time. Then I thought maybe I had no reason to live through another day. I didn’t want to do anything to myself.
I simply didn’t see any task still waiting for me. And then, through the window, I saw a knocked-over flowerpot by the stairs. Maria would never have left it like that. I went out, picked up the pot, gathered the soil with my hand.
Then I walked to the gate and a little further down the road. I didn’t suddenly feel happy. The grief didn’t disappear. In the 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’d promised to call Andrzej. A man thinks he needs a great purpose to live. I needed one small task for tomorrow. This morning, I also woke up at 6:00.
I made one tea. The second one I only set in my thoughts. I looked at the garden, checked the flowerpot 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, a steady rhythm, ordinary movement, and people I didn’t entirely let out of my life helped a little.
But I know why I got out of bed today. I had someone to call, and raspberries to water. That’s enough for me.