Becoming eighty is a matter of life or death. I chose life. It is

"Becoming eighty is a matter of life or death. I chose life. It is a much better position to be in, and it's easier on your back." Thus spoke Art Buchwald, the humorist who found laughter even in the twilight of his years. Though his words dance lightly, they carry within them the deep wisdom of one who has stood at the edge of mortality and smiled. To choose life is no small thing—it is an act of courage, of defiance, of faith. It is the refusal to bow before despair, the determination to greet each morning not as a burden, but as a blessing.

In his later years, Buchwald faced severe illness and was even placed in hospice care. Yet he did not surrender to death’s shadow. Instead, he lived—truly lived—longer than anyone expected, writing, laughing, and embracing those who loved him. His wit was his armor, his joy his rebellion. When he said he chose life, he was not simply referring to survival; he meant the choice to keep one’s spirit awake, to face pain with humor, and to meet fate with a twinkle in the eye. For laughter, when born from understanding, is not denial—it is transcendence.

The ancients too knew this truth. Socrates, when condemned to die, spoke of death with serenity, yet lived his final hours teaching and conversing, filled with grace and peace. He chose life until his final breath, not because he feared death, but because he revered the living moment. Likewise, Buchwald teaches us that to live well in old age is not to cling to youth, but to embrace the present as it is—to see life not as what was lost, but as what remains still luminous, still worthy of gratitude.

There is profound humor in his humility—for when he says that life “is easier on your back,” he reminds us that even the oldest among us may still jest, still find comfort in laughter’s healing touch. The body may weaken, but the spirit need not. Those who laugh at the absurdity of life become free from its heaviness. For laughter, like sunlight on weary bones, warms what grief has chilled. It is the sound of the soul saying, “I am still here.”

Choosing life is not only for the aged—it is the task of all. Every day offers the same crossroad: life or death, hope or despair, presence or absence. The choice may not always be in the body’s hands, but it is always in the heart’s. We may not control how long we live, but we can control how deeply we live. To choose life is to seek joy even in suffering, to keep the flame of curiosity alight even in darkness, to refuse the paralysis of fear. It is to live in such a way that even the shadow of death must pause to admire your spirit.

Consider also Nelson Mandela, who spent twenty-seven years in prison, yet emerged not broken, but radiant. He chose life while confined within walls meant to silence him. His laughter, his forgiveness, his unyielding dignity—these were his rebellion. Like Buchwald, he showed that to live fully is not to escape hardship, but to master one’s response to it. For those who live with courage and grace, even prison bars or illness cannot dim the radiance of being alive.

And so, the lesson stands clear: choose life, every day, in every form it takes. When hardship comes, greet it with humor; when age arrives, meet it with gratitude. Laugh when your bones ache, smile when the night grows long, and speak kindly to the years that have shaped you. For to live joyfully is to honor all that has been given—to one day meet death not as an enemy, but as an old friend waiting at the end of a long and well-told story.

Thus, when your time of reflection comes, may you say as Art Buchwald once did—with warmth, with courage, and with laughter—“I chose life.” And in that simple declaration lies the essence of wisdom, the triumph of spirit over decay, and the eternal victory of light over shadow.