Why do I have to learn something new, now?

I hear this from teachers younger than I (I "achieved" 66 this year) regularly, either out loud or through body language and attitude: "Why do I have to learn something new?" (or "new, now?" if they're close to retirement) I see stress and exhaustion in eyes and posture, and I feel some compassion for their plight. My body at times feels seventy-ish, with arthritis its constant frenemy, and I find that focusing on multiple conversations and activities in the classroom is more challenging than ever. My mind, though, often seems still in its forties and intent on making its mark in the world, and I love students and learning. What I would like to say to them is, "Because there's still so much to learn, and your students deserve it." But I don't. Rather, I attempt to encourage them gently to take the next step, trying a new strategy or allowing students to enjoy a little bit of learning online rather than always on paper. Baby steps. Why do I keep going? Why not simply step aside and let the more youthful educators take over? Because, in some sense, learning feels ageless. There's an emotional and professional "fountain of youth" in being part of the process as the eyes and smiles of teachers and their students widen when a concept or task begins to make sense and they taste the thrill of success. Jeff Foxworthy, noted comedian, recently said, "Once you taste purpose, it's impossible to go back to simply existing." So I keep stretching. I can't quite keep up with the young rush of ever-new apps and activities, but I can add some aging wisdom to contemplation and steady growth. As I teach others, I continually learn something new, and I'm grateful. Purpose is agelessly tasty.