The Summer I Got Old
It was an odd feeling. To look at my age, face to face. To realize that I’ve reached the twilight years of my life. Or maybe just dusk. Either way, I’m not sure I like it.
There were a couple instances this summer that brought me to this realization. One was when a friend invited me on a golf outing. I jumped at the chance (not because I’m a good golfer) because it meant an opportunity to meet new women. I’d be the newby as the other girls knew the host. It was a grand event. We played 18 holes of golf each of the two days we were there. I kept the pace and enjoyed great conversation. But as the talk ensued, I realized I was clearly one of the oldest ones there — maybe even by 20 years! Common sense says I should be pleased that I was there. Instead, I found myself wondering.
The other instance involved my amazing 17-day trip to Africa, which truly was great and worthy of its own blog post at another time. We were a small group of traveling buddies —some I knew; others became new friends. One day as we bounced around in our safari jeep, one of gals from the group leaned over and politely asked if I minded telling her how old I was. I remarked that I was 75. She, in turn, said: “My mother is 73; she would never do this.” Again, I found myself wondering.
Was I too old to be taking this big trip to Africa? I wondered —but it was still wonderful?
In both of these instances I should have been thankful that I was able to experience them and hold my own, so to speak. But here I was questioning myself. What was I doing out there in the bush? Am I extending my reach? Do I not realize how old I really am?
My daughters assured me that I was fine. They were proud of me for venturing out on new adventures. Still, I was left pondering my feelings. I decided an attitude adjustment was in order.
A daily devotional provided some insight when it posed the question: “What does it mean to be alive rather than just live? To really enjoy a beautiful sunset. To hear a newborn baby cry. What would it be like if we lived each moment in the spirit of those fully alive moments We must re-cast our vision for ourselves daily.”
So what might that vision be, I pondered. Then I read an article about writing a letter. Not just any letter. This one would be a “letter to self.” We’ve probably all done a version of that. I remember an assignment in high school to write our expectations for our future, put it in a sealed envelope with the message that it be opened 10 years later. In this current writing exercise, the time frame was five years (another reminder that I’m old and my time is limited).
But I’m charging ahead because I do want to be fully alive for all the days I have—however few or many they may be. I have a treasure and that is today. Everyday is a gift. One that is a meant to be opened and reopened all the days of our lives. A day to dream because there are no age limits dreaming. In five years I’ll be 80. No time like the present to start planning the big birthday party I plan to have.
Like Andy Dufresne remarked in the movie, The Shawshank Redemption, “There’s only one choice: get started living or get started dying.”
By the way, I just put a deposit on a trip to Hawaii.