Being alive beats being dead, but there are some aspects to age that range from annoying to downright disheartening. I'm 73, for context.
I've been reading extensively since I was quite young. My eyes are having problems. Macular degeneration in one eye that makes it noticeably harder to read. More generally, I just plain get tired. If it's a physical book, my eyes get tired, my hands get tired, my back starts to ache. I miss being able to lie on my stomach on my bed and read away the afternoon. Also, my attention wanders. I can read for an hour, but not for hours.
A similar set of complains attend the process of writing.
Being alive beats being dead, but it's not the dying that gets to me, it's the aging. Being a sedentary creature, I'm okay that I cannot run as fast, that outdoor camping does not appeal, that rock climbing holds no charm. It's that the things I've always loved, the things that are dear to me, come with more difficulty, arrive tardily, leave too soon. I don't long for youth, but I could do with a bit more endurance.
And better eyes. And better hearing. Oh what I wouldn't give to hear, just once more, the songs of my youth with young ears.