I fell into
a funk and the only way out was the truth. Sadly. Or not.
I am what I
am. I am done with pretending the old woman in the mirror is not me. While my
mind tells me that I’m as much fun and as ready for adventure as I was when I
was thirty-five - No. the truth is, the words adventure and fun have taken on new
meanings. Adventure is going to a new hair stylist for the first time, fun is curling
up with a cup of herb tea and immersing myself in a good book.
My hair is silver,
my toes are curling inward. Mysterious projectiles shoot from my mouth
unexpectedly when I’m speaking. Sometimes I wobble when I walk. Strange sounds occasionally emanate from my body. Words that I know very well escape me. I stare
into space waiting for them to return unless there are others in the room who jump
in quickly to fill in my blanks. Obviously, my brain is not operating on all
cylinders as it once did. It’s slower. But reliable. However, I am over eighty and some decline is to
be expected.
My hand
shakes with a familial tremor so when I attempt to order one item online,
sometimes two (or more) arrive. There are wrinkles where my skin used to be English-fair
and smooth and I do believe those are jowls starting to form.
With the
exception of a few variants, the aging process is alike for most of us. Aging
does not make us exceptional. It only makes us privileged.
I’ve known friends who have become preoccupied
attempting to understand the aging process they are experiencing and to bond
with others of like health and mind. I get that. There is comfort in belonging
to a group. We want the reassurance of knowing we’re aging like our best friend
Angie. Except when it becomes an obsession and we unwittingly become self-absorbed
in the process. Aging being all we think about, all we research, all we care
about.
My husband
refused to become embroiled in health and or aging discussions. He would change
the subject or leave the room. He’d rather talk about the state of the economy!
And he hated politics.
Perhaps we
should take let nature take its course while we direct our mind and body into
living our lives the best way possible despite the challenges presented by
aging. I cannot make it to Machu Picchu. I’m lucky to be able to travel to Salt
Lake City. But that’s where I’ll go now and visit family. My breathing issues
have required me to change my plans and revise the bucket list. Hardship?
Hardly.
So how did
I fall into the funk in the first place? Too much focus on aging, both the pros
and cons. Mostly cons. I was researching, writing and living the subject. (Not-so-fun
fact: Greatest fall risk happen at 85 years of age. Fall risk begins at age 65)
So how did
I escape the obsession/depression of aging?
By pure
accident I found taking on responsibility helped me. Doing nothing in
retirement years may seem like a dream but can quickly become your worst
nightmare leading directly to the afore mentioned funk of depression and
obsession.
I’ve taken on
the responsibility of rescuing a dog. Ruby is a terrific companion and becoming
devoted to her welfare has brought a positive change to my life. I’ve also
signed on for volunteer work. I’ve chosen a volunteer responsibility which interests
and excites me. I may not be able to contribute as many hours as I would have
in younger days, but that’s acceptable and more than okay for most
organizations.
These new
responsibilities don’t mean a new ache or pain won’t have me venting in
frustration or making a doctor visit, but a blip is a blip, a paragraph rather
than a short story. I’ll take care of each new challenge (and they will come!)
and move on. Simply put. The secret to overcoming aging obsession is
responsibility to something or someone other than yourself.
Of course, having to face the mirror to wash my face and apply a minimum of make-up, I’ll
still be forced to see what others see. Today, I see an old woman. I must acknowledge I
look quite like other old women. Women I pass on the street or in the store. We
may have not traveled the same path to the place we are now, but we share the
same fears and challenges of aging - as well as the same beautiful natural silver
hair color. A year ago I might have said I have nothing in common with these
women. I am not a member of the same tribe. But now I know unequivocally that I
do.
Losing our
friends is devastating. Waiting to die is sad. (Especially if our bodies are
not ready) Waiting for family members to make our lives interesting is tragic
when we are still capable of making our own decisions and keeping focused our
own journey.
In our
youth when Betty Friedan promised we could do it all, but we eventually arrived
at the place where we learned we could not. We were exhausted. We started looking
for balance in work, family life, romance. Now the only balance we’re after is
the kind that will keep us upright, rather than on the floor. But maybe that’s
just me. Taking responsibility.
I am what I
am. And as the lyrics from La Cage Aux Folles add so poignantly…I am my own special creation.
Aren’t we
all? And shouldn’t we be celebrating this unexpected longevity instead of falling
into an aging obsession funk?
