I had a great response to yesterday’s blog about aging. Lots of views. Lots of visitors. And a good number of comments. Really interesting comments. We had good conversations. But me thinks there are those among you who may think I’ve caved.
Succumbed. Given up. Given in to getting older. Accepted it. Admitted defeat.
Moi? Are you kidding? Nothing could be further from the truth. Nothing.
Yes, I’m getting older. I’ll cop to that. How can I not? It’s true. It’s a fact. Happens to the best of us. But that doesn’t mean I have to take it laying down. None of us do. So I decided a Part Two was in order. A sequel, if you will. Because there’s something you should know about me. I don’t give up easily.
Let’s begin at the beginning. When it comes to aging it is my belief that regardless of what’s going on in your body, getting old is all in your head. My mother was proof of that. She had incredible joie de vivre. She loved life. She never allowed the number of years she’d been on this planet to define her. She was defined by her spirit, her zest for living. In her mind she was ageless.
Her attitude is best described by this Satchel Paige quote: “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you was?” As far Continue reading →
Even as a child, I wasn’t crazy about my birthday. Unlike most kids, I was never wild with anticipation as THE day got closer and closer. Not even the prospect of gifts particularly excited me. Or parties. Or cake and ice cream. I have no clue why. Ridiculous, I know.
Maybe even at three years old I wasn’t crazy about the idea of time marching on. Who knows. Bet a therapist would have a field day with this one. All I know is, nothing’s changed.
Unlike my mother, who celebrated each and every birthday she had. Yes, she celebrated each and every year she was blessed with ‘living’. Not that she liked getting old. Staring her mortality square in the eye. She just didn’t dwell on it. What I’m about to say may sound like a fragrance commercial or a Hallmark card, but I’m saying it anyway. Because, in my mother’s case, it’s absolutely true (as anyone who knew her can confirm). It defined her and all she stood for:
She defied it. When she looked in the mirror she saw a woman much younger than she really was. She saw a woman with the spirit of a forty year old. And the energy. And the enthusiasm. A woman filled with the joyful anticipation of what each new day could bring. Would bring. Because she willed it so. She’d tell you how old she was, before you asked. To her it was an accomplishment to be proud of.
Vain as she was (and I don’t mean this in a bad way), she NEVER shied away from saying “I’m 75”. Or 80, or 84. I think she