Thought of the Week: The Art of Aging

Several years ago as "the Big 4-0" approached, I was cool, calm and collected about that impending birthday milestone. "You're only as old as you feel", was my preferred maxim when it came to age. I was healthy, active, generally happy and grateful for my lot in life. Forty was just a number, albeit one that had some of my friends quaking in their proverbial boots. Some were dreading the arrival of that decade that seems to represent mid-life, if we're fortunate. But not me. I welcomed forty, ready to embrace this time in my life which many describe as incredibly satisfying due to a keener sense of what it is you value and want in life. That wisdom which comes with experience was going to carry me along quite happily, thank you very much. A dear friend and I even jetted off to New York City for an extended weekend get-away to welcome in our forties, kicking off the new decade in our lives in fine fashion with a celebratory red carpet, so to speak.

Forty arrived and all was well. Just a number, see. But like a snake that slithers down from a branch, pointing out the juicy apple just above its serpentine head with a nod, it lulled me into a false sense of security and invulnerability. And then forty showed me its true colours. As would a false friend who's kind to your face and deceitful when out of earshot, forty stabbed me in the back. And twisted the knife. 

I entered my forties with still three grandparents in my life. Goodness knows that I was utterly grateful for that fact and for the very close relationship that I'd always shared with them. Perhaps enhanced by the fact that I'm an only child, and that I was also an only grandchild on that side of my family, my Oma and Opa were truly like a second set of great parents to me as I grew up. I spent many a weekend at their home as a child, and associate so many good feelings with them: security, comfort, kindness and unconditional love. My own girls, H and E, have also grown up knowing that love from them. And while my logical brain knew that they'd have to disappear from my Earthly life one day, the emotional part is having a lot more trouble coming to grips with a world that doesn't have Oma and Opa in it. They've been constants in my life since day one. Now I have only one grandparent remaining. My Nanny's 91 and I'm thankful that she's going strong. What a good reminder this is to go visit her again soon and share as much quality time with her as I'm able.

When forty arrived my body was strong and I jumped into any physical activities that appealed. I ran most days and had completed a series of half-marathons in my late thirties. I competed in duathlons, and certainly didn't think twice about carrying luggage or helping a friend move some furniture. My body was dependable. And then my forty-year-old self put a Pyrex bowl of noodles into the fridge one day and my back gave out. This felt as though the lower shelf of my back dropped out of its position; like someone took out the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet and the system surrounding it went into spasm in its attempt to hold up the remaining structure. As my condition improved and then relapsed, I discovered that running was no longer a viable activity for me. Believe me, I did not give this up easily; I've been running for as long as I can remember, and both my physical and mental states thrived on it for much of my life - that is, until forty knocked at my door. 

The way I began to see it, I was left with two options: live a brittle life of fear and loss, clinging to what has been and lamenting all that is no more, or forge on, adapting to the new state of the union that is my life. Or as Andy Dufresne, played by actor Tim Robbins in one of my favourite movies, 'The Shawshank Redemption' more succinctly says, "I guess it comes down to a simple choice: get busy living or get busy dying." There's no doubt that I've spent some precious time floundering through the murky swamp of this thing called mid-life, though I'm hesitant to say that it's been wasted. While I don't dream of lending my thoughts anything near the grand or noble import as those of the famed Greek philosopher, Socrates apparently said, "An unexamined life is not worth living." I applaud these words, however, my cautionary addendum is that one can get stuck in the quagmire of the mind and miss out on the simple glory of experiencing the wonder of life through the senses.

So here I am, two years after forty bowled me over and I've learned a great deal about prioritizing and listening to my body. I'm ever-grateful for this physical entity that I'm in when we're having good days, and try to be just as grateful when it's not working optimally. I've swapped out some of my go-to physical activities for ones that now better suit my body and its limitations, devoting more time to yoga, swimming and walking and less to those whose impact is not currently positive. I've also learned to seek help when necessary, and would like to send out a huge shout-out of thanks to my talented friend A and her team at Embody Health Centre for their skills and care, as well as to the easy-going yoga practitioners and teachers at Fearless Heart Yoga Centre who provide a warm and comfortable space in which to practice. Above and beyond the physical care these teams provide, it's knowing that there are positive people in my world who are always there to support me that means the most.

At this moment when I look back on the past couple of years, my forties have been a time to transcend the labels and the boxes that we too often package ourselves into. We are, indeed, more than the sum of our parts, our strengths, weaknesses and individual traits. We tend to define ourselves using certain titles, accomplishments, roles and interests. My list might have read something like this at one time: mother, daughter, wife, granddaughter, teacher, runner, introvert, writer, vegetarian, friend, animal-lover, etc. When conditions or events alter those definitions it's easy to question who we are, how we should proceed, or why we're here. All valuable questions, surely, but not ones to get hung up on. I can't fully describe how I've come to see myself these days, but it's in a much broader scope than those labels imply. My sense of self seems to vibrate along an expanse of feelings, of the grand within the simple and the simple within the grand. I realize this may sound very nebulous, and I think that's part of why it's working for me: I prefer this sense of the unfixed and undefined. I feel that I'm allowing myself to float with the ebb and flow of life in a much more harmonious manner with this viewpoint as my anchor.

No one knows how much time he or she has to live this Earthly life. That very fact seems to lend weight to the argument that age is somewhat irrelevant. One popular adage instructs us to "live in the moment", and Alice Morse Earle is credited with saying, “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present." While I fully embrace the idea of living in the now mindfully and being fully present in your life, I also believe that we do ourselves a disservice by forgetting our past and not planning for the future. As a memory keeper of sorts for myself and my family, I love to reminisce and recall days, events and people gone by. We also risk repeating mistakes if we don't take some time to look at the past and learn from those errors that we may have made. And while I would agree that it's counterproductive to live in that fantasy world of "when", as in "when I (insert accomplishment), I'll feel happy/complete/satisfied", I also believe that the future exists as a beacon of hope, as a path of opportunity and so much possibility. This belief is surely tied up with the tears that come to my eyes so often when I watch children united in an endeavour, whether it's an organized production or carefree play - they represent a seemingly limitless spectrum of unknown potential. Yes, I strive to fully live in and appreciate the here and now, but I do reflect upon my past and enjoy planning for my future. As with so many things, it's all about balance.

And so I've forgiven forty for its less-than-stellar arrival. I'm embracing this time in my life when I feel a much greater sense of what I'm all about, with all of my quirks, foibles and flaws. I don't mind not knowing the names of 99% of Hollywood celebrities - I only recognize some who are also over 40 or those who are the offspring of the actors I watched in my younger days. I listen to the CBC when I'm on my own in the car. I'm generally more comfortable with speaking my truth. 

This life is, indeed, mysterious, like one of those 'Choose Your Own Adventure' stories that I remember delighting in reading as a child and which have seen a resurgence in recent publishing trends. Unlike those books, however, our choices in life aren't finite, nor are the outcomes. As life unfolds, we evolve, change and grow, and so the details of our adventures have the potential for so much more; the pages of our stories are written each day. Whatever your numeric age, I hope that you're enjoying your story more often than not, and that you're writing it with all of the wonder your adventure deserves. I'm ever-grateful that our stories have intersected.

My wonders: How have you embraced milestone birthdays throughout your life? Whether you approached them with excitement or dread, how did your expectations meet with reality? Where do you feel your feet planted today: in the past, present or future? Have you found a comfortable means of jumping along your life's timeline?