Sixty-five and counting!
This is an opportune moment for an open letter to all my female friends
and family who are working their way to the mark upon which I have landed today
in a state of grace.
I’m sitting in my office, with Neil Diamond on deck reminding
me of the years that were, but what I’m reveling in is the year that can be.
We all travel at the same speed, that is, one day at a time,
(and a year is about as far as I can plan) but I have to admit that life does tend
to speed up when you’re busy with other things.
Sometime around my mid-forties, I began to notice that I was
losing track of a few weeks per annum. I
looked everywhere for them but it soon became clear: they had evaporated. I chastised myself for being careless, for wasting
or misplacing my time. But it continued
to get worse. In fact, over the years, an increasing number of weeks have continued
to vanish. I’m now down to having only 37 weeks per year.Age, however, has taught me the trick of adaptation. So I’ve learned to cram more into every day – more people, more projects, more loving, more of just about everything. Sometimes, I feel like I’ll bust open with so much crammed into my life. Which is why I have no time for artifice.
I have learned to say what I think (always mindful that words can sear and scar) and have no expectations about the affect my words may have on others. In short, I don’t anticipate anything although I hope what I say and do is helpful. It’s a case of accepting that one cannot do better than their best. I try to do my best. That’s one of the Four Agreements I think.
Somewhere along with those vanished weeks, a part of my ego evaporated as well. Not the part that can’t believe the face in the mirror or the softness around the waist (in short, I’m still vain) but I lost that portion of ego that needs approval and recognition for who I am. That might sound boastful, I know, but it was an element of learning to acknowledge the progress I’ve made in my life. It’s not ego to be proud of the kind words gathered from friends, family and colleagues. And it’s lovely to feel valued but I still hold my own council. I am ever more the pragmatist and so, I am the arbiter of what are my successes and failures.
I am now two years past the age at which my mother died of cancer. She would say I am tempting the evil eye (ptuh! ptuh! ptuh! Kinenhora) when I say I have never felt strong and more able to fulfill my potential than at this very moment. If I can accomplish half of what I have started, I will be grateful.
Some of us are late bloomers. At 65, my buds are just beginning to open. And for this and so much more, I am grateful every day.
