To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly.
Death of one’s own free choice, death at the proper time, with a clear head and with joyfulness, consummated in the midst of children and witnesses:
so that an actual leave-taking is possible while he who is leaving is still there.
– Friedrich Nietzsche

That’s how I want to go.

83 sounds about right – perhaps October 7, 2055.  A nice fall day, before the winter when cold and darkness come too early and overstay their welcome.

Not the first of my contemporaries to shuffle off this mortal coil, but not the last, either.

With a sharp mind, and time to say all the things that need to be said to the people closest to me.

With time to prepare and grow comfortable with the idea of not being, but not so much time lest fear and trepidation become overwhelming.

I don’t think that’s too much to ask.