Ongoing challenges

While I have spoken in the past about reaching peace with where I am age-wise, in regard to all things mental and physical, it is an ongoing challenge for me.

Not so much in some, mind you, but maybe those areas are just easier to overlook.

Like the head of grey hair. A quick glance in the mirror from the front, and I can convince myself that white is blonde. Almost. And I am really glad to be done with the coloring. And the ginourmous calcium tablets to beat back the osteo-whatever-it-is? Why, those might be prenatal vitamins (only not.) (at all!). The nails are benefitting nicely, as a nice aside.

Lovely Step-Daughter shared a room with Wonderful Guy and I while in Breckenridge a couple weekends ago. She asked me one evening after I showered if I hadn’t washed my hair. I replied that was one of the benefits of aging…no longer needing to wash the mop every. single. day. She asked about other advantages of, you know, aging. Well…hmmm.

Let’s see. Dearest Sister might say less of a need to shave. I might add…well, I didn’t know what else. It was late and I was tired. I couldn’t then, or now, come up with what might be considered other ‘advantages’.

It takes longer to get my energy back, and my sleep is occasionally interrupted with night-sweats. I creak where I didn’t use to, and when I get up or stoop over, I don’t believe that I am lithe or graceful any longer. I am crinkly, I sag, and I no longer defy gravity.

I bear scars. And, of late, I am rather self conscious of some of them. They have lost the lustre of being 'badges of courage'...

I can no longer eat when, what, or how ever much I want, without a care of calorie.

There was a pride in knowing exactly the right word for the job at hand. Somtimes, I just cannot come up with what I mean. It seems to be in my mind what I want to express…but it is so much trouble to form the verbal aspect of my thoughts. I am just all whatever...you know what I mean...blah blah blah...

But not really. I am really thinking getting old sucks big time. I used to be able to express myself!

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I don’t always have to express my opinion on every little thing now. It gives me more time to spend listening, which takes way more effort. I have come to believe that a lot of us could put more effort into listening to others and hearing what they really are saying.

But the actual hearing part? Well. I am not going there.

And yet.

Sunday we attended a cook-out which was a pseudo-birthday get-together for a neighbor. Pseudo, because last year was his big fiftieth bash, so this year was just a ‘get-together’. Wonderful Guy asked Birthday Boy how he was enjoying the 50’s club. That always seems to get the attention of the forty-somethings. Birthday Boy remarked that is wasn’t so bad, and one of the near-by 40-somethings was intrigued enough to ask us 'silver backs' what wasn’t so bad about being in our fifties.

I had to say me…not being 40…or 30…or even 20. See. I just like me better at 50, even with the creaks and groans and scars and marks and ringing in the ears. I like to believe that most of the time, I am at peace with me, that the crazy-maker of my younger days has grown up into someone who can more times than not, accept life, others, and herself.

More times than not. It’s all about progress.