Growing Older

I don’t believe there has been any singular event, in my life that has made me acutely aware that I was growing older, so much as a series of events and sometimes, some not so subtle hints that led me to believe that I am not as young as I once was. (O.K., so I am a passive aggressive, with denial issues.) In all honesty I don’t actually mind the concept of aging, were it merely a matter of wisdom and maturity, but this gravity issue, and the fact that each morning I wake up with joints that scream in protest, and let’s not forget those wonderful hot flashes that ensure a restless nights sleep. My poor husband is about ready to don thermal underwear before retiring each evening.

I remember when I turned 21 years old (I had already been legally emancipated by then for about 7 years) I was so sure I would finally be taken seriously. Yeah, right, I am still not taken seriously, at least not by my children. Had I known then, what I know now, I would have raised dogs. Don’t get me wrong I do love my children, but for the life of me I don’t know why it is, that the older they get, the smarter they believe themselves to be, and the lower my I.Q. drops; I should be a blithering idiot any day now.

There is nothing in this world that will make you feel your age like your children, of this I am convinced. I finally understand the famous curse of parents everywhere, “May you have children just like you.” Do you think after writing this, if I were to call my mother and apologize profusely for everything I ever did; that I believed I had gotten away with, she might lift the curse? Probably not, she is enjoying the pay back… I know I am looking forward to it!

When I turned thirty I was surprised to find I was not overcome with the kind of melancholy, I had heard described by others who had reached that magical age. Rather I remember looking in the mirror, taking stock of the many changes over the past several years. I had a few more lines in my face some added pounds, and quite a few more gray hairs. But these where not unexpected and it was not in the least bit disturbing, so I looked further, and was overwhelmed with a sense of pride. I had beaten the odds, I was alive, I was not in prison, and I had done more than survive my youth, and the multitude of mistakes and bad choices. I had successfully turned around a young, angry, self destructive and dangerous girl into a mature, responsible adult, who had learned to trust, and love and be loved. “What” I asked myself “were a few wrinkles and gray hairs compared to the changes that I had made in my life that allowed me to take stock today?”

I made a promise then and there, that I would always celebrate my birthdays; by evaluating the year before, I am not so much looking for the successes or failures, as I am looking at the person I am becoming. It’s a work in progress, but as far as I am concerned it beats focusing on the deterioration of the body, when there is so much more to me than flesh and bone.