I thought I’d do a short series on aging since it’s on my mind lately. There are obvious downsides to it (check my previous post here), but there are many upsides and I thought I’d do a couple of posts focusing on those. Most of us know the downsides, but if I remember being young correctly, the positives weren’t as obvious. Maybe if we have a frank discussion about it, the young folks won’t be quite as fearful of the aging process.
The first positive aspect of being, let’s say, older than fifty, is that the things that mattered so much start to fade. But before I go on, let me say that my observations obviously don’t apply to everyone, it’s just my experience.
What things stop mattering so much? My looks for one thing. I’ve faded into the background, looks-wise, and it’s wonderful. I don’t miss the wolf whistles and all that jazz. I don’t mind being invisible, believe it or not. I can still hold a conversation, and that’s way more important.
Another thing, what other people think. I guess that’s just an extension of the previous paragraph, but it goes further. When I play a concert, I’m less freaked out about the possibility of making a mistake. I can put it behind me much more easily. That’s a big relief, I can tell you. There are more applications for this, I’ll expand in another post.
I’m starting to know myself better, and that’s a huge plus. When you know yourself, you can make decisions that are much healthier for your psyche. I’m not sure I’m making better decisions for my body yet, but hopefully that will come. I know what I need, I just can’t always opt for those things. I’m a weak creature, still. Habit is a strong component of the equation, and I need to break a few. At a certain point I’m sure my body is going to give me an ultimatum on a couple of those.
I realize more urgently that life is short. The time to do what you want to do is now. There is no guarantee of tomorrow, so get on with it.
I’m at my most creative right now. I’m writing blog posts, publishing video blogs, knitting like crazy, keeping up my practicing (more or less), and now it’s gardening season and I’m really excited to get in there! I love it all! I even wrote a poem the other night when I couldn’t sleep, prompted by a chat with Erica (my daughter). Actually, in a kind of freak coincidence, I had just been thinking about writing a poem about not sleeping and she suggested it, so then I had to do it and it was very therapeutic. Here it is for your entertainment:
I spent the night unsleeping.
Awake to all
but the arms of Morpheus.
Listening to the drone of a voice
in my earphone
trying to bore me to sleep.
Unsleeping.
Get up, do something!
warm milk?
(shouldn't have drunk that tea, that wine, ate that food, that splendid food...)
"hey, you up?"
"Yes, but it's morning, here!"
The birds are singing so
it must be close to morning here, too.
Once they stop, you know
the night is truly over.
They've announced it
and are busy getting on with their day.
Monty sleeps on, snoring gently,
oblivious.
These nights are less frequent,
but just as long as I remember.
This milk is making me sour,
though it's sweet.
It's not the solution.
But it's a bit of comfort, too.
More to come on the subject of aging. Lots of food for thought there!
I love to hear from you!