I Don’t Feel That Old

My body begs to differ

I am older than I feel on the inside. My body, however, is screaming my age at me regularly.

I have aches and pains. My skin tears, breaks down, is more fragile. I have no idea where random bruises came from as they show up.

My movements are slower; my flexibility is a thing of the past. I think twice about bending down to pick up something. Squatting is not automatic. 

Sleep is different. Digestion is different. Rituals are different. No longer do I spend much time applying makeup (only the barest now suffices), styling my hair just-so (not having bedhead is goal enough), picking the best outfit (comfort is the priority). 

Relying on memory is also a thing of the past. Lists and reminders are everywhere, but that is still no guarantee that the task will get done.

Routine grooming is no longer routine. I don’t know when that happened. 

I find myself trying to figure out what might be worthy of a doctor’s appt and what is just part of aging. I don’t know, as I have never been this age before. 

I don’t look forward as much to the future, as that seems limited and short, but rather I appreciate the present which feels more vital. Memories of the past now become more vivid. 

Regrets live on but I work to diminish their power, as I cannot do anything to fix the past, but only work to do better now.

I now avoid mirrors. I don’t need more reminders of the changes and losses. I know that they are there, but I don’t need to have my face rubbed in them. 

Naps are part of my routine, whether I plan them or not.

This has become a time of letting go…of things, of goals, of dreams and wishes, of looking forward. Poignancy and bittersweetness are now a part of my daily experience. 

My choice of where, what, and who to spend my time with has become more deliberate and intentional. There is no time to waste. 

Romance is a sweet memory, but solitude and peace become the priority for me. The craving is diminished and sometimes gone altogether. I am not closed to the possibility of what might happen, but that is not my focus. I find relief in that.

I find joy in small miracles and moments of grace, moments of connection with friends, with nature and her creatures, moments of feeling the wind on my face and in my hair, the sun shining on me, the morning fog cooling the air and bringing soothing relief. 

Laughter is vital and a frequent companion. There is now humor in things that seemed so very serious in the past. Now I laugh and ask what does this really matter? Who really cares? What will this matter when I am dead and gone? 

I attend more memorials these days rather than weddings. Death feels different. I feel the depth of each one that I hear about, feeling my own place standing in that line. 

 I am becoming a bit more comfortable asking for help doing some things that I would take pride in being able to do by myself. It’s humbling.

Dancing is now a private occasional activity in my own home when no one is around. Sensuality has broadened to random moments but no longer becomes an obsession as in my youth. 

Definition of family has changed. Family of choice has become primary.

Grief is a more constant companion. I have asked her to pull up a chair and teach me what she will, as she doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

I walk slower and see more and appreciate being able to move. I smile a lot and am delighted when that is returned. Laughter is such fun, especially deep belly laughs (and I now have the belly to truly be able to enjoy them more). Wistfulness is one of my many moods, and it’s ok, so long as I don’t get lost in it. 

I can at times feel lost and yet also feel more present and found, lost in this new land of being an elder, yet found in truly living more in each moment, in feeling all of it, the pain and the joy. 

I feel the bittersweetness of growing older. My appreciation seems to increase looking back, as my anxiety and worry seem to decrease looking forward. 

My hearing is not what is used to be. Yet I feel like I hear more than I really did before, as I take more time to intentionally listen and really hear.

My eyesight is not as good, yet I am so grateful to see so much, including the small moments of grace and kindness all around me. 

Hiking now involves making sure that I know where each restroom is along the route. No restrooms? That will not be the path that I will take.

 I am delighted to re-ignite friendships from decades ago and realize that true friendship and connection keep growing and can just pick up where they left off.

I marvel at new friendships being made and feel grateful. 

I appreciate tears more and never see them as something to be ashamed of. They are a gift of being human, of still being alive and still feeling it all. 

I welcome anger and boundaries more now, as time is precious and not to be wasted on things or people that do not nourish. 

Time has taken on a different quality, as I feel it going by quickly and slowly at the same time. I find myself stopping more often to simply be. I am learning to honor being rather than doing. Breathing deeply is one of the best medicines. 

I keep practicing the skill of letting go…letting go of youth, of things, of people, of time. I think that I am lightening the luggage load before it’s time to depart. Carry-on baggage is not allowed where I will be headed when it is my time to take that final trip. 

And yet…

What a sweet ride this has been and continues to be. It seems to grow sweeter as we approach the end, whenever that may be. I feel grateful more deeply, give tenderness more easily, cherish each moment lived. How beautiful it all is, how wonderful of a journey it is to be alive. It makes me tremble at its power, its grace, its bittersweetness.

What will my last words be, I wonder. I think, perhaps, they may be something along the lines of Thank you…thank you for all of it.