I just had a birthday and the number of candles on my cake was enough to set off a smoke alarm. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not shocked at how old I am. I can still count. But still. That old saw – You’re as young as you feel – sounds good, but what about the reverse. Am I as old as I look?
The mirror tells one story. I’m aging. The signs are all there: arms that seem to have a life of their own. Body parts that have begun to surrender to gravitational pull. Hair that has declared my colorist as a dependent. A makeup drawer that has more concealer than it used to. And a bottle of statins sitting next to my vitamins.
Away from the mirror, age hasn’t claimed the same victory. I can still swing a golf club and affect a pretty good result. I can still play bridge, complete crossword puzzles, compete on Word Chums and Tweet with the best of them. I can still lift weights, take walks, schlep groceries and complete everyday chores without any more effort than when I was twenty years younger. More important, I can still carry on an intelligent conversation and participate in vigorous political debates. I still write and read and enjoy doing both. I’m still curious. I still find new things I want to learn. I still set goals. And I still work hard to achieve them.
I know that age is creeping up on me when I see my children and especially my grandchildren growing up. But that’s thrilling. Seeing my children achieve success. Watching my grand girls experience life. It makes the world exciting all over again.
So I’ve decided to damn the candles! Not to dwell on numbers and wrinkles and graying roots. I’m going to look into the mirror and be delighted with what I see, because what I feel is vibrant. And fully engaged. And young.
33Melodee says
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