On Aging: Plus and Minus

On Aging:  Plus and Minus
Colleen Rogers 

The Minus Column

I wake in the morning with a refreshing new ache or pain, one that shocks me to the core, propelling me to assess whether or not this is the one, the final.  Every new bump or wrinkle is an enemy of the state, and I do not understand how my form does not seem to align with my thought patterns.  It is as if I had been expelled into another dimension while at rest, only to wake with invasions and probes altering my own familiar.  I groan, creak, and function--but I must now make adjustments.  I go more slowly on the stair steps, am more cautious on sidewalks.  I feel the pitying stares from those younger, who mentally seem to calculate my time remaining.  I sense that they wish to push me along and not deal with the discomfort of knowing that this is fated for them as well.  I am a living reminder of mortality--that of their grandparents, parents and, ultimately, their own.  I am the Grim Reaper, but it's not Halloween.  I do not seek to roller coaster their discomfort.  On the contrary, I want to learn their computer tips, their dance crazes, their vernacular.  But, when I attempt to emulate now, I have moved from "cool" to "crazy old lady" on their assessment spectrum.  Pop culture is no longer the jewel of my schemata.  I am the outsider, no longer moving and shaking the spin of the world.  My ideas, suggestions, and insights are now received with gentle smiles and condescending nods.  It is a sudden sidestep, but a significant one.  You suddenly ghost fade from mattering.  Even though the predictions you proffered do indeed materialize (and you could have saved them much grief if only they'd listened), it is all for naught.  They have to make the errors of their age while you squelch every "I-told-you-so".  You are no longer the world's host--you now are being served the courtesy plate of soft foods.

The Plus Column

I wake in the morning with a delightful boldness, not worrying as much about being offensive or insulting.  My delivery of opinions, however harsh, is now more frequently excused due to my age.  I do not self-censor as I once did, and it is much easier to say what I truly think without reprisal.  My intention is not to be hurtful, but to be openly honest.  My Southern mother-in-law, who was "coyly expressive", used to tell people with whom she disagreed to "die in a pile".  The freedom to send people with malcontent swiftly offsite is a delicious benefit of aging, especially for those of us who tend to stifle.  This newfound daring also spills into trying the new and the feared.  I have been encouraged and egged on make more attempts at the unknown.  After all, winked a friend, "a life sentence in prison is a rather short term for us".  The desire to do the things that were once eliminated, as a trade-off for the acquisitions needed to build a life, are now revisited.  There is a desire to travel, rekindle connections once shelved, and have less routine experiences.  Checking off the bucket list items of dreams-in-rotation suddenly becomes a living, activated turnstile.  The baubles once accrued are dispensed to family members, or antique shops, so that a life of minimal maintenance can be enjoyed.  It is no longer about the "stuff" or the showiness of what has been amassed.  The focus has shifted to the attempt to establish good health and the enjoyment of time.  The jolt of aging is a shock, something not instructed, with no coping mechanisms shared due to our own parents' efforts to spare us some of the jarring downsides.  Like most life experiences, though, our approach in shifting temporary derailments to regain life's balance is what matters.   

Our perspectives need to turn from what is lost to what is next.


Meme herein:  Old_f71235_464473-min.jpg