The
Beauty of Aging
“Nothing
changed inside me; I didn't feel at all like sixty—or any age
whatsoever—and as for giving up my outer activities, I was busier
than ever. I decided to give up on being an old man and returned to
the life I had before, forgetting that I was aging.”
Ram
Dass (Still Here)
Aging
is a strange and timid little monkey. It sneaks around and jumps on
you when you least expect it. First, you notice that you're a little
stiffer than you used to be, and then that it's harder to get up
again after you've been on your knees. The strange and disorienting
ingredient is that you don't feel different on the inside, which
makes it difficult to accept that you should consider your age when
deciding what you will do. What usually happens with me is I get
mid-way into something and am brought up short when a voice in my
head whispers, “Honey, this was not a good idea.” It's my
grandmother's voice, I think. The suggestion that there is something
I should not do makes me as mad as a wet hen. Then I'm going to do it
or burst—usually to my own detriment.
In
India, according to Ram Dass, entering into one's seventh decade is a
momentous turning point. One is supposed to focus one's attention on
God and away from the pursuits of the world. It is a time for inner
work to be completed before the inevitable crossing of the veil. I
was talking to a friend of mine on Sunday who just celebrated her
97th birthday. She's frail of body but sharp of mind. I
was explaining that our pastor had suggested to me that the group of
“elders” in the church might want a forum for discussing their
feelings about death and dying. Without preamble, she informed me
that most of them had long since crossed that stream—everything was
done that could be done except for the deed itself. She said, “My
grandmother lived to be 104! That scares me!” Sometimes, the
tenacity of life is scarier than the approach of death.
My
cousin, Sandy, celebrated her 65th birthday yesterday. We
had a great day of doing all the things she enjoys, ending with a
family dinner, gifts and cake with ice cream. She loved every minute,
but when she spoke on the phone with family and friends, she
described herself as “old”. There is something about knowing
you're now eligible for Medicare, that catches in your throat. It
feels unreal—how can that be? I am still the same person; where did
the time go?
I
am sitting in Sandy's sun-room watching the grounds keepers
pulling the dew off the golf-course greens, mowing, raking, smoothing
the sand traps. They start before daylight so that the course will be
perfect for the 7 o'clock tee-time. It is a young man's job. I'm
happy to simply admire their beautiful, strong, lean bodies as they go about
their chores. That's one of the boons of aging—you appreciate
beauty wherever you find it. And you have the time to sit and watch.
In
the spirit,
Jane
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