Reflecions on life going by, memories cherished, tasting the moment
It’s Sunday morning and I sit in quiet solitude. Full of so many feelings. Yet empty in a way that feels deeper than the fullness, deeper than words.
Remember when we used to claim our half birthdays? I remember proclaiming I am 10 and a half! Almost 11. Or I am almost 16. Or close to 18. Funny, isn’t it? We rush ages early on, only to realize later that age rushes us all too quickly.
So I turned 69 and a half the other day. A group of roommates and I used to celebrate our half birthdays during our college years. Another reason to celebrate, we thought. Feels a bit different these days.
Now I am closer to age 70 than to 69. How quickly the years seem to go by, more and more so as I am blessed enough to be able to continue aging.
So here I am, this Sunday morning.
I am so very grateful for life, and to be able to see another day. This is not about lack of gratitude.
I am quieted and sobered by the brevity of it all.
Memories of my past flood me more these days, seeming to come out of nowhere. Reminding me of parts of the life that I have behind me. The child, the adolescent, the young adult, the middle age woman. All parts that are still within me, although not visible to others. Yet very visible and visceral to me.
Here I am, approaching the seventies. I can’t quite wrap my brain around this at times. Seventy used to seem so OLD. Not so much anymore.
There is part of me that does think of this as a new phase of life. A phase that I seem to have reached so much more quickly than I thought that I would.
There are things to explore here, more lessons to learn, more to embody, more to live.
I am leaving the golden autumn of my years and entering the more cool and blue winter. There is beauty to behold in the blue ice and cooler colors, in leaving some of the vibrant autumn hues behind me to enter this new land. And realizing that those vivid autumn hues are also within me still, as I travel to this next destination.
I feel wonder, some fear, some shock, and oh so many more things that I cannot quite assign words to yet. I will keep working on this. For myself, to name this experience and rich time of life. For any others who may be able to relate. There is much power in naming things, in owning them, in fully living them.
I am struck by how often elders are seen as having the story of being old to share. Yes, this is there. And there are also stories within us from every other time of our lives. A novel. Elderhood is a chapter, perhaps several with its many stages.
We all carry so many stories, to those who may want to hear, who may be willing to stop and take a few moments to listen.
We have much to share. Much to tell.
And we are learning still.
The book is not quite done yet.