Dum bibimus, dum serta, unguenta, puellas poscimus, obrepit non intellecta senectus.
(Juvenal, Satires, 9:128-9)

Pron - doom BIH-bih-moos, doom SAIR-tah, oon-GWEN-tah, PWEL-lahs POHS-kih-moos, ohb-REH-pit nohn in-tel-LEHK-tah seh-NECK-toos.

While we are drinking and demanding garlands, oil and girls, old age sneeks up on us unknown to us.

Comment: Another way of putting this might be as a statement: When we wake up one morning and discover that old age has definitely arrived (however one determines that) what do we want to look back over our shoulders and see?

The best answer to that (only fools try to answer this question for others--so call me a fool) may be that we are utterly unattached to the past, and that we are fully at peace to have arrived at old age.

It still leaves ME asking for myself: am I living today in a way that I can let today go when today is over, and not regret it tomorrow? If so, old age, when it arrives (I'm sure that aging is happening, but not ready to call myself "in" old age) will be just like another day.

That would be nice.