Nice to be here? At my age it's nice to be anywhere.

"Nice to be here? At my age it's nice to be anywhere." — so quipped George Burns, the legendary comedian whose laughter outlasted time itself. Beneath his jest lies the quiet wisdom of a man who had lived long enough to see both triumph and loss, fame and farewell, and who, even in his twilight years, could find humor in the miracle of simply being alive. His words may draw a smile, but their meaning runs deep: that existence itself is a gift, and to awaken each morning — to breathe, to see, to remember — is no small joy, but a triumph of the spirit over time.

In the manner of the ancients, one might say: the wise man learns to laugh at the passing of the years, for laughter is the defiance of decay. Burns, born in 1896, lived to the venerable age of one hundred, spanning a century of change — from horse-drawn carriages to the dawn of the Internet. He saw empires rise and fall, the old world vanish and the new one awaken. Yet through it all, he never lost his wit or his gratitude. His humor, laced with humility, was not mockery of age, but reverence for life. “Nice to be anywhere,” he said — and in that single jest was a hymn to endurance, to the beauty of survival, to the grace of simply still being part of the story.

For many who fear old age, the years seem like an approaching shadow — a thief stealing youth, strength, and time. But Burns reminds us that age is not an enemy; it is a companion that walks beside us, teaching us to savor what remains. His humor transforms frailty into wisdom, reminding us that every day lived is a victory over all that might have silenced us. The man who can laugh in the face of time has already conquered it. For laughter — sincere, fearless, and kind — is the sound of the soul refusing to yield.

Consider the ancient figure of Sophocles, who, in his nineties, was accused by his own sons of madness and weakness. They sought to seize his estate, claiming he had grown too old to reason. But when he stood before the court, Sophocles read aloud from his newest tragedy — a work of profound depth and grace. When he finished, his accusers fell silent. “Would a madman write such lines?” he asked. He was acquitted at once. Like George Burns centuries later, he proved that the spirit does not age, and that presence — the simple act of still creating, still being — is itself an answer to mortality.

George Burns’ humor carries that same timeless courage. To say, “It’s nice to be anywhere,” is to laugh not in despair but in victory. It is to look at the long road behind and the short one ahead, and still find the strength to smile. There is no bitterness in his words — only wonder. For the man who truly lives learns to measure life not in years, but in moments of gratitude. The young boast of tomorrow; the old rejoice in today. And it is the latter who understand the greater truth: that life’s worth is not found in its length, but in the lightness of one’s heart as it passes.

The lesson is clear: cherish the gift of presence. Do not wait until your years are many to see the miracle of being alive. Look upon each dawn as Burns did — with humor and gratitude — for each new day is a privilege denied to many. The aches of age, the lines of time, the slow step of the elder — these are not curses, but medals of having endured. And if laughter accompanies them, then the heart remains forever young.

So, my child, when you feel the weight of the years or the fear of passing time, remember George Burns, standing before his audience with a cigar in hand and a twinkle in his eye, saying, “Nice to be here? At my age, it’s nice to be anywhere.” Let that laughter echo in your soul. Let it remind you that joy is not bound by youth, nor wisdom by age. Be grateful for the air in your lungs, the ground beneath your feet, the chance to see another sunrise. For as long as you can still laugh, still love, still say “I am here,” — then, indeed, it is nice to be anywhere.