Still Working on Accepting the Big 70

As if I have a choice!

This is the year that I turned 70. 

I am 70. I say that to myself to feel the shape of it in my mouth and the feel of it in my brain and body. It has been over two months since I turned 70, and I am still getting used to the idea of it. 

I see evidence of aging in my body. Things aren’t quite where they used to be. And things are shaped differently. With lines. And folds. And spots. Oh my.

I see evidence in my mind. Like asking myself why I walked into a room. Like forgetting someone’s name, someone that I have known for some time. Like forgetting what I was just about to say. 

I see evidence in my habits. Late dinner is now anything after 5:30pm for me. When did all the other diners turn into senior citizens? 

Bedtime has become earlier and earlier. I wake up early as well. I have always been a morning person, but now really am taking that to the extremes. Looking forward to snuggling up in my bed with a good book, which I can sometimes even read for a while before falling asleep.

I see others reacting to me differently. Sometimes I feel invisible as I walk down the street. And sometimes I feel, especially once my age is said aloud, diminished somehow. Feeling seen as less than a full, thriving, productive human being. Smiles directed at me have a different feeling to them at times. Is it a slight feeling of pity that I pick up? Or kindness, but in a way that reduces me somehow? 

I feel cast aside at times by the medical profession. As if they are now lumping me into the group that is waiting to die. They see the number 70 and perhaps decide differently, I fear, how and what to treat. 

I am more keenly aware of others dying. Movie stars and music legends that I grew up with that seemed powerful and immortal. The death of Tina Turner hit me hard. I still cannot believe that she is gone. I know she was 83, but that doesn’t make a difference to that part of me inside that loved her power, strength, and determination and wanted her to be on this earth for a much longer time. And it makes me realize that I am moving consistently to the front of that line. The line that we get into the moment that we are born. 

I feel grief more deeply. It now is a constant companion to me as the losses come more frequently along this aging path. Family. Friends. Human and otherwise. Beloved pets. I now think carefully about whether to get another pet, as I either have to once again face the devastating feeling of losing them, or make sure that they will be well taken care of if I precede them in death. 

I get more ads for wrinkle creams and final arrangement plans. The mailing lists that I am now on have obviously changed. 

And I feel some of the other effects of aging. 

I see things through the eyes of an elder now. Smiling with understanding at some of the struggles that younger people around me have, yet also seeing that this too shall pass. Quickly. 

Feeling such compassion for my younger friends, who struggle with this human condition and all the feelings and emotions that come with it. Seeing them trying to figure out where to put all those feelings and what to do with them, and still be able to carry on each day. Telling them that those feelings are one of the most precious gifts that they have. Knowing that they will understand that in time, perhaps. But not yet.

Finally coming to understand that most of the things that I learned to hold against myself are the best parts of me. My sensitivity. My compassion and kindness. My vulnerability. My trusting too easily at times. My hunger for true connection, now realizing that the deepest connection that I was missing was the one to my own Self. Looking outside for what was within me all along. 

Seeing that my stubbornness was really my persistence to keep going. Determination. It helped me to make it to this age, for which I am very grateful.

Realizing how I have judged my body negatively through the years. Looking at old photos and now appreciating how I looked then. And trying to remind myself that I may feel the same way in 10 years about how my body looks now. Being compassionate for the aches and pains that show up, knowing that there may well be many more coming down the road, should I be lucky enough to live a while longer. 

Being a first generation American. My parents immigrating from Sicily, Italy and me, as a child, always wanting to fit in and not be different. Now I am so very grateful for that experience, for my deep understanding of the immigrant experience that my parents had, and hopefully being able to offer more compassion to those now struggling with this. Proud to be first generation. Proud of my heritage, and proud to be here now. To embody what those of many years ago all went through to become Americans. 

Appreciating differences among us all, and feeling free enough, finally, to be able to choose which differences that can still be included in those that I consider my friends, and those differences that make others better left alone, wished well. Realizing that they don’t have to be included as part of my life. And that’s ok.

Looking back at how much I tried to be liked and to please others. Finally realizing that the person that I need to please is me. Me and whatever my version of something greater than me is. Which also has changed over the years. To a more compassionate, loving, and wise Presence. Less judgmental and less harsh.

Being ok with making judgments and choices. Realizing that we all do this, that some of this is necessary to create boundaries and safe spaces. Judgments do not have to be negative. They can simply inform us that something or someone may not be the best for us. And that’s ok to make those choices. 

Realizing that I can forgive the past, but can also remember it so that I don’t re-injure or re-traumatize myself. It’s ok to remember if it helps me grow. I don’t have to hold grudges. I do want to hold lessons that help me thrive and take better care of myself. 

Listening to that gut feeling that I ignored for so long or judged as bad. Realizing that there is wisdom in me that sometimes cannot be named, but is there and needs to be listened to. It is a guide from somewhere deep inside me. A place that sometimes has no words, but speaks eloquently, nonetheless.

Yes, I am 70. Grateful. A bit in shock. And oh, so grateful to be here, to still be learning, to breathe in each moment and all that is around me. To finally feel like I have come home to mySelf. The Self that I was meant to be all along. Still learning the lessons that I need to learn. Still feeling every bit of it. Pain and joy. Happy and sad. Bitter and sweet. Life and the eventual reality of death. 

But, for now, I am still here. Still alive. Still learning. 70 and thriving. So, big 70, here I am. Bring it on.