I thought getting older would be a breeze. Wrong! In the fantasy of youth, I believed wisdom would be the gift of ageing. Wrong! I had no idea wisdom would depend on attitude, curiosity and the ability to accept mistakes with humility.
I watched my parents age but somehow refused to accept that I would be on that road to the inevitable. I listen to my friends talk about their bodies changing as I look into faces that have morphed through time. Pain and joy etched on cheeks and foreheads remind me that I too carry remnants of my history. We creak, our flexibility reduced, our interest in strenuous exercise gone, now it’s gentle movement thank you. When we fall we don’t bounce like we used to, which means adjustments, not reaching for that high box, and not taking chances in traffic as reflexes are not quite what they were. Not happy Jan!
I accept my grey hair, not the skin’s stretch marks. How lucky are the young who can see internet pictures of the damage fat skinny fat skinny does to older skin. A visual warning! Everything droops, flaps as muscles atrophy, and bellies refuse to retreat. What once provided the calories for a day’s labour now only add to excess. What! You want me to give up chocolate and ice-cream! Is there no joy in ageing?
This getting older is not my favourite. What happened to those years between having kids and now? I remember their births, but not the pain. I remember their first steps but that’s because they were recorded on video. Perhaps I need to get organised, upgrade my experience and put everything on the computer so one day when it’s needed, all I have to do is loop the images and bask in my youth.
Burnside Writers Group 