Young at Heart
When we are young we think, and feel, that we are invincible. We see suffering as a distant reality in someone else's world. Few of us experience deep seated suffering, or if we do, we digest it differently. We are perhaps better equipped to look forward with anticipation. And hope. Few of us taste mortality's bitter sweetness when we are young.
When we are young we never see ourselves growing old. Hell, I thought 32 was old once upon a time. Nevermind that I am almost a decade past that now. Ironically, now that I am teetering on the cusp of 42, I still feel young. I believe people call women like me, women of a certain age, "young at heart. My body doesn't always comply. My graying temples, mushy parts, dark circles, and forehead wrinkles betray me. Somehow I'm not keeping up with my mind, my outlook, and my youthful (i.e. immature) sense of humor.
There is a fork in my aging highway.
I'm not complaining about aging. In fact, I embrace it. I mean, what's the alternative? We can age with dignity or die with it. Nevermind that everyone in my circle of friends is younger than I am. I'm used to being the only one who listened to the Violent Femmes on vinyl and had a rotary phone and survived childhood without cable TV and a refrigerator that didn't spew water and ice from the door. I wore leggings the first time they were a style staple. I remember when Jimmy Carter was president. I even wrote him a letter. With a pen. On paper. And I mailed it in a stamped envelope. I typed papers in college. On a typewriter.
I like my age. I like where I've been and where I'm going.Continued on the next page