A realization: as I bend down to tie my shoes, I ever so subtly bend my knee outward, thereby making the distance between my hands and my shoe a bit shorter. It seems I’ve had a stiff lower back for a few days, and I’m not sure why. Sleeping badly, I suppose. But because my back bothers me, I don’t want to bend way over to tie my shoes. As I lift myself I realize: I am getting older.
I realize that approximately a hundred times a day. It terrifies me. I hate it. I am in my thirties, and I feel like I’m ninety-eight. Not physically. Just in general. I want to be twenty-seven forever and ever. And I’m not, so it bothers me. Then something occurred to me. I am only two seconds old.
I was a baby thirty years ago. The baby is the old person. I don’t think I carry any of that life with me. I can’t remember being spoon-fed cinnamon apples and learning my ABC’s. I can not relate to that person at all. And every year, that “entity” gets older.
But I’ve only been my current age for a month. This new person surprises me every day. It seems to me that I am younger now than I was back then because I’ve only been the Me I recognize for a few years. I am this age now – recently – and I was a baby three decades ago.
I suppose I am saying maybe age isn’t cumulative. Maybe it’s more an attitude, being aware that you’ve only been the person you are for a second, a minute, or whatever length of time you’d care to measure.
Just remember — getting older is better than the alternative.
And getting older does not mean getting old.
Give thanks that you are still here to complain about the aches and pains of age.
Cara,
It only gets better.
Mike