I am growing old; a privilege denied many. It is something odd to me. I don’t feel old mentally; looking at myself in the mirror or directly at my body tells me many years have passed since my physical self, made a debut in this beautiful world.
Having been the object of ridicule as a child resulting from weight issues, lack of poise, and an absent sense of fashion helped me to strive for acceptance by working on myself to correct the heavy burden of “flaws” society had hung around my neck. Developing my physical appearance, gracefulness, and panache has since my teenage years been of paramount importance; A goal I still work on achieving and improving upon.
Taste, elegance, and comport do not fade with time, they actually increase in stark contrast with to physical deterioration. Physical beauty as defined by today’s society is another matter altogether.
That is the aspect of growing old I am struggling to accept. I have been able to subtly keep aging at a much slower rate in my face and neck, thanks to advances in the field of aesthetics and minor plastic surgery “touch ups” while the rest of my physical body…not so much. The physical withering of my physical body is more evident each day. Coming to this realization is an exercise in self-acceptance that I have yet to master and be at peace with.
Today I sat on the shore at the beach to meditate on this. My hands remind me of my grandmother’s hands. I remember as a child stroking the backs of her hands and noticing how her transparent thin skin would cling to the now visible bone outlines and blue veins that were the hands of her youth. My “Lela” and I would lay down for a nap every day, or as she would refer to it, “the hour of repose”. The ritual of descending into the realm of slumber, was comprised of amusing myself by pinching the skin of the back of her hand and marble at how it would stay up; her skin turgor was all but gone. But those hands loved, caressed, cooked, sewed, crocheted, and performed all kinds of amazing skills. Now my hands are the same for my grandchildren.
I recall snuggling with my granddaughter Camila while looking at pictures on my phone. She stopped on one picture and said “Yeya, you look old in this picture, but that is okay, cause you are a grandma. Grandmas are supposed to be old. ” I was a little taken aback as I was not expecting this observation. Then, I replied, ” You are right Camila, I am old and blessed to be your grandmother ” The wisdom that comes from a child’s perspective is astounding.
With old age comes wisdom, emotional stability, stronger sense of self, time to do the things I enjoy, pursue my dreams, and appreciate the simple things in life. The realization that time waits for no one and that I have less time on this planet than I have lived, lets me know I am old. I am becoming cognizant of the slow evolution my physical body is undergoing while at the same time becoming keenly aware of the mental and spiritual potency the years on earth have bestowed upon me.
Balancing these two diametrically opposed forces is an exercise that I am learning to perform. I have come to the conclusion that the process of my life is a process of a slow age-appropriate physical deterioration yet an ever-increasing spiritual realization and awareness. An undebatable point is what Kitty O’neill Collins once wrote “Aging seems to be the only available way to live a long life”.