Okay. It’s time. I’ve been hard-pressed to “come out” in announcing my entry into true senior-hood, but now that my high school class is planning a big bash for all of us turning 70-ers, I decided it was time to emerge from my closely guarded age closet.
When I was a kid, most people my age now acted old. They looked old. They sat on their front porches drinking tea, or maybe something more potent. They knitted, they played checkers, they napped. Not that any of these things are bad, it’s just that the people doing them back then acted … old!
I do not consider myself old. I do not sit on my front porch all day, don’t complain about my aches and pains (not much, anyway), and don’t look especially old, minus a few wrinkles here and there. I don’t feel any different than when I was 50, 40, and even 30, (in my head, that is).
So, as I share my view from the 70th floor looking down, I savor the sight of delicacies of lovely memories while avoiding a sea of woulda, coulda, shouldas. I have turned my experiences — good and bad — into precious learning devices, while flushing all the gunky stuff away. What a gift … what a life …
The view looking up is full and robust, filled with my beloved humans, canines, and activities: swimming, reading, writing, friends, and playing with dogs and grandkids. Eating my partner’s gourmet meals. Drinking dark, chocolatey wines. Biking through a canopy of lush summer trees. Hiking on trails full of fall color and the musty smell of fallen leaves.
When my body decides I’ve had enough, I’ll take my swimming easier, finish writing the novel that’s been in the works for 20 years, and cuddle with my dogs while reading a good book in front of the fireplace on a snowy winter’s night.
And when that winter’s night decides to become more permanent, I’ll leave with a smile, knowing how much I enjoyed the views, both up and down, from the 70th floor.
madmuser 