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I just celebrated my 70th birthday. The transition to a new decade is undoubtedly a milestone. You might wonder, do I have angst about aging? Well, a little. But mostly I’m looking forward to the years ahead.

I got hearing aids in March. I’m currently recuperating from bunion surgery. And I have opted out of cataract surgery so far, not because I don’t need it, but because I’m still looking for an eye doctor who’s a bit more haimish and less a factory manager with a preprinted, pricey menu of options.

Yes, the signs are clear. Well, blurrrrry. I am advancing in years.

Still, I am comforted that our religion hails 70 years as a significant number that represents completeness and wisdom. According to the sages, one who reaches 70 has lived a “fullness of years.” (Pirkei Avot 5:21)

In Judaism, 70 represents the number of nations in the ancient world, the number of Jacob’s descendants who went down to Egypt and the number of elders designated to assist Moses.

If Jewish tradition is good with 70, then so am I.

There was a time, not long ago, that I could not have said this. I wasn’t happy. I spent a lot of time — too much time — yearning for the past and missing loved ones who had died. It was as if every day there was a yahrzeit candle burning a hole in my heart and soul. 

I’m not 100 percent sure how I climbed out of this mournful state, but thankfully I did. Two activities have clearly played a big role.

The first was starting rigorous exercise. I’ve become a regular gym rat, working with a bulked-up, tattooed-to-the-max, fear-inspiring trainer named Jesse. I now pump iron like Arnold Schwarzenegger! Well, more like Arnold if he had a bad back, osteopenia and lifted laughably tiny weights.

Second, I started working as a writing coach at the local university’s journalism school. I sincerely believe that the enthusiasm, passion and curiosity of the students have been infectious and recharged my optimism battery like only young people can.

So, happily, I’ve rebounded and have a renewed zest for living. In fact, I think I’m zestier than ever.

I recently returned from a New York City marathon — of 10 shows. Even for theater-a-holic me, that’s a new record. And it wasn’t just a nonstop show-a-thon. Laura, my friend of 51 years, and I walked our (bad) feet off — like in the old days at Barnard College, traipsing up Madison Avenue and along the East River on a picture-perfect sunny day.

Meanwhile, my husband and I have been on a different type of marathon, logging more travel miles in one season than ever before. We spent three weeks in Europe this spring and also blitzed off to freezing Alaska and Canada to see the Aurora Borealis.

At home, I’m devouring books at record speed. You’d think they were chocolates. My appetite for reading has become insatiable. There’s just so much to learn. Again, the sages say 70 represents an age of wisdom. I’m definitely not “wise,” but I’m still working hard on acquiring knowledge and insight.

When the day comes and my time is up, I hope the cause of death will be “smothered under an avalanche of books from an adjacent nightstand.”

Among the books I’ve recently read is “The Virtues of Aging” by former President Jimmy Carter. Published in 1998, it is a sweet book, filled with the gentle folksy wisdom. Speaking for himself and former first lady Rosalynn Carter, he wrote:

“There is no doubt that we now cherish each day more than when we were younger. Our primary purpose in our golden years is not just to stay alive as long as we can, but to savor every opportunity for pleasure, excitement, adventure, and fulfillment.”

These words seem especially poignant with the first lady’s passing in November and his precarious health at age 99.

Yet the thought behind those words resonates with me, especially the point about fulfillment. My husband and I have no plans to retire. Work is a defining part of our identities. I guess we’re emulating my parents and oldest brother who all worked and continued to engage with the community till the day they each died.

There’s a saying about dying with your “boots on.” That’s the plan, although in my case it’s more likely to be a pair of sneakers or orthopedic sandals.