MY TRUTH

 I recently fell into a funk, unusual for this positive thinker, and the only way out was the truth. Sadly. Or not. So this is my truth.

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, 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 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 sometimes 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 that 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 I’m over eighty and a 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. Advanced aging (85 years plus) does not make us exceptional. It only makes us privileged. Admit it, super-ager has a nice ring!

 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 a certain 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. (Or anti-aging, but that’s a whole different bucket of worms and a three or four page essay.)

My late 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 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. Alas! I cannot visit Machu Picchu any longer. 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. So how did I escape the obsession/depression of aging? 

By pure accident I’ve 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 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. You may not be able to make a five year plan in good conscious but making a plan for today is totally reasonable. It’s called living in the present.

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. I am an old woman. I must acknowledge I look quite like other old women. Women I pass on the street. 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 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 unequivocably 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 focused on our 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, and 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?