As I approach my 88th birthday, it’s become apparent to me that my eyes and ears, among other appurtenances, aren’t quite what they used to be. The prospect of long flights to wherever in search of whatever are not quite as appealing.

In this wry, self-deprecating reflection, Wallace frames aging as a gradual narrowing of physical capacity and, with it, professional appetite. By listing “eyes and ears” alongside “other appurtenances,” he uses humorous understatement to acknowledge bodily decline without sentimentality. The second sentence shifts from anatomy to vocation: the once-routine demands of a reporter’s life—long flights, constant travel, chasing uncertain leads—no longer feel worth the cost. The quote thus reads as a candid rationale for stepping back from relentless newsgathering, suggesting that longevity in a high-intensity public career eventually requires recalibrating ambition to match stamina.