Aging


A friend wrote about aging and asked how I felt. This is my answer.

Almost 75, give or take a few days, I am now, the person I always wanted to be. Yes, I am old, old, very old (thank you Kevin – for the definition and Ben – who needs frequent clarity.) My age has set me free. I like who I am.

I’m not referring to my body! It would be nice to look 30/40; maybe 50? Instead I have wrinkles. I’m squishy in the wrong places and no butt.  Some mornings I look in the mirror and see my mother or grandmother’s body or someone who seems to resemble them. Then I get on with my day.

I would not trade my happy life, my wonderful family, my fabulous friends for less grey hair or a taunt body. I’ve become my own best friend. I treat myself kindly and am far less judgmental of my perceived shortfalls. So, I cannot stick to a diet and maybe I only got around to making my bed just before nightfall. Yes, I need to mop the floor, after all I’m sticking to it as I walk across. It’s perfectly Ok to say “this book stinks; I’m done” instead of struggling trying to give the writer his/her due. And no, I probably don’t need another glow ball in the garden patio but I like it; the glow makes me happy.

Maggie and I were supposed to grow old together. Franco, Mikki, Philip and I were supposed to spend a week on the Amalfi coast. We had plans and they left this world too soon; before they experienced the great freedom that comes with aging.

So who cares if I watch TV, learn a new app on the computer, dance to the great 50, 60 & 70’s tunes? At the same time, if I wish to cry, I will. I’m forgetful – sometimes. Some of life is just as well forgotten. Eventually, I remember the important stuff.

My heart has been broken. How can it not break when you lose a loved one or someone you love hurts? My broken heart gives me compassion and understanding to stand along side those who need me. I have been loved, deeply; without reservation or conditions. I’ve been wrong. Even tho I try to make the best choice, I can be wrong. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong. I don’t beat myself up.

So yes dear, I like being old. I’m free. I like who I am. I won’t live forever but in the meantime, I’m not wasting a minute fussing about what could have been or worrying what will be. I intend to sing and dance. Oh yes, hand me that bag of potato chips.

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