I want to die young at a ripe old age.
- Ashley Montagu
Yet another birthday looms. And so it begins. That inevitable descent into crankiness, incontinence, irritability and ultimately, dementia. It’s called aging. That word at its worst strikes fear into most baby-boomers, and, at its best, is simply ignored. “50 is the old 30, 60 is the old 40,” blah, blah, blah. We are always trying to sugar-coat the inevitable. But let’s face it, we are getting older.
This is not something that I take lightly. I creak a little more, I nap a little more, I forgive a little more. I check each morning to see if there is still a vestige of the saucy young woman who once looked at the world through rose-tinted lenses (and in the 60’s, they really were rose-tinted!). To my horror, one morning in the shower, I felt something on the backs of my thighs, and realized it was my rear end! In spite of the squats, the lunges, the step-ups, the mostly well- balanced nutrition plan, things have just, well, shifted. Fortunately, so has my attitude.
What I regret most about aging is that I didn’t appreciate my youth enough. But I was too busy being young to worry about being old. So, I guess I really enjoyed my youth, because if I had spent all my time thinking about being old, I wouldn’t have been appreciating being young. And so on. This is what I mean about that dementia thing. It creeps up on you before you can stop it. (Like the derriere on the thighs).
There is actually a website called “Stop Aging Now.” I won’t provide the link, as it will stimulate your brain cells to try and find it. How ludicrous. We can’t “stop aging.” It’s what bodies do. It is all part of the Grand Scheme (emphasis on the word, “scheme”). We have to provide yet another activity for our kids as they get older, namely, taking care of us. So we need to age.
What if we thought of aging as “ripening”? But then, that brings visions of rotten things, so maybe that’s not quite the right picture to depict. I volunteer at a lovely winery in Woodinville, and when they have a new release of one of their succulent red wines (Malbec, Syrah, or blend), they will say, “It’s good now, but wait for about 6 more months, after it’s aged a bit, and it will really come into its own.” So that’s the image I would like to summon. We aren’t really aging, per se, we are coming into our own.
As I Come Into My Own, I won’t always do it well, or quietly, or appropriately, but I will do it intentionally, and try to enjoy myself along the way. And Happy Birthday to me.
- Ashley Montagu
Yet another birthday looms. And so it begins. That inevitable descent into crankiness, incontinence, irritability and ultimately, dementia. It’s called aging. That word at its worst strikes fear into most baby-boomers, and, at its best, is simply ignored. “50 is the old 30, 60 is the old 40,” blah, blah, blah. We are always trying to sugar-coat the inevitable. But let’s face it, we are getting older.
This is not something that I take lightly. I creak a little more, I nap a little more, I forgive a little more. I check each morning to see if there is still a vestige of the saucy young woman who once looked at the world through rose-tinted lenses (and in the 60’s, they really were rose-tinted!). To my horror, one morning in the shower, I felt something on the backs of my thighs, and realized it was my rear end! In spite of the squats, the lunges, the step-ups, the mostly well- balanced nutrition plan, things have just, well, shifted. Fortunately, so has my attitude.
What I regret most about aging is that I didn’t appreciate my youth enough. But I was too busy being young to worry about being old. So, I guess I really enjoyed my youth, because if I had spent all my time thinking about being old, I wouldn’t have been appreciating being young. And so on. This is what I mean about that dementia thing. It creeps up on you before you can stop it. (Like the derriere on the thighs).
There is actually a website called “Stop Aging Now.” I won’t provide the link, as it will stimulate your brain cells to try and find it. How ludicrous. We can’t “stop aging.” It’s what bodies do. It is all part of the Grand Scheme (emphasis on the word, “scheme”). We have to provide yet another activity for our kids as they get older, namely, taking care of us. So we need to age.
What if we thought of aging as “ripening”? But then, that brings visions of rotten things, so maybe that’s not quite the right picture to depict. I volunteer at a lovely winery in Woodinville, and when they have a new release of one of their succulent red wines (Malbec, Syrah, or blend), they will say, “It’s good now, but wait for about 6 more months, after it’s aged a bit, and it will really come into its own.” So that’s the image I would like to summon. We aren’t really aging, per se, we are coming into our own.
As I Come Into My Own, I won’t always do it well, or quietly, or appropriately, but I will do it intentionally, and try to enjoy myself along the way. And Happy Birthday to me.
Mom,
ReplyDeleteThis post really touched me! I just want you to know that I brag about your youthfulness and spunk to anyone who will listen. Whether it 1960 or 2010, you always have a contagious and enviable energy!
Love,
Boo
You will be missed at the Rodeo this year! No hoisting on the sholders at the Tack Room :(
ReplyDeleteCasey Alan McKillip