I ran across this piece written by a person about the same age as I, and I can relate to so much of what she says. Hard to explain but she got as close as I've seen.

  "I am nearly seventy-one years old. I always thought I should love to grow old, and I find it even more delightful than I thought.  It is delicious to be done with things, and to feel no need any longer to concern ourselves much about earthly affairs. 

I cannot describe the sort of done-with-the-world feelings I have. It is not that I feel as if I was going to die at all, but simply that the world seems to me nothing but a passageway to the real life beyond, and passage ways are very important places. 

  My wants seem to be gradually narrowing down, my personal wants,  I mean, and I often think I could be quite content in the Poor-house!

I do not know whether this is piety or old age, or a little of each mixed together, but honestly the world and our life in it does seem of too little account to be worth making the least fuss over, when one has such a magnificent prospect close at hand ahead of one; and I am tremendously content to let one activity after another go, and to await quietly and happily the opening of the door at the end of the passageway, that will let me in to my real abiding place. So you may think of me as happy and contented, with unnumbered blessings, and delight to be seventy-one years old." Mrs. Pearsall Smith.