The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question.
Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometimes despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt.
And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror who looks like my mother!, but I don’t agonize over those things for long. I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly.
As I’ve aged, I’ve become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I’ve become my own friend.
I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn’t need but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging. Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4am and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50’s and 60’s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love, then I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody’s beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself anymore. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.
So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. Old age has been a gift for me.
~ Author Unknown ~
One thought on “Age is a Gift”
The few aches and pains that come and go are not as important as the love of my life, the love of my family, and joy of our pets, the garden and beauty of the trees. I can still reach and help others before they need to reach out to me. I love getting out to walk the dog and greeting neighbors I know and some that I meet along the way. I love to envision new images for my artistic quilts as I sit quietly sewing the ones to be given away. I enjoy the memories we have shared…above all the family I grew up with, the memories of those no longer with me, and of course, my husband, son and daughter. I agree..old age is a gift for me.