Swell. Now the mailman knew how old I was and it would only be a few days before all the neighbors knew too.
Though I kept tossing those letters, they kept showing up. I finally opened the 30th one. What a damn cheery note they sent for being ignored for so long. And they even sent the little membership card with my name on it thinking I would be every so inclined to drop it into my wallet. I was not.
Eventually they wore me down. Somewhere between 50 and 51 I actually read the whole letter. It promised me I was in the company of dynamos the world over (since when is AARP world-over?) and that I could only benefit from their membership. I would get discounts everywhere and a handy dandy monthly magazine full of advice for people like me.
People like me? People like me who talk to two tiny muses all day long? People like me who still think there is time to be a writer v. those who are pictured in the AARP sailing off on cruises and playing golf? People like me who jump about 10 feet in the air when I pass a mirror and glance at it only to find a wrinkled gray version of my dead mother staring back?
Ha. I think not. I don't golf (the clothes are hideous). I don't do cruises (seasick). And I don't do the grandchildren thing very well either (kid noise in close proximity makes my brain explode).
I forget to go to a salon for my hair cut so I take paper scissors and cut it myself and since I can't see the back, who cares if it's even? I buy stuff to be more kind to my aging skin, but I never even remember I bought the stuff so I never use it until it's expired. And then I wonder why it doesn't work.
I don't act my age. I don't know what act my age even means. A decade ago when I turned 40-ish I worried about getting older and took advantage of every ache or odd pain and went to many doctors to assess my health. Thankfully each time I was pronounced as "breathing" so that meant I was still alive. After 50 I didn't care so much. I only contact a doctor when I need unecessary antibiotics and then I do it over the internet. I think they saw me so much in my 40's that they forget I am now a decade older and haven't actually seen any of them in a long time. I might get away with that for a few more years.
I stopped caring if my clothes create an outfit. Now I am pleased that they still fit. I refuse to buy any more clothes until the ones I own literally come out of the dryer in pieces. And I've taken some of those to the tailors who have magic needles because I have been loath to part with some of this old stuff. I apparently have way more empathy for anything aging. Even clothing.
I spend time with people because I want to, not because I have to. I read what I enjoy rather than what I must. I don't care that I should be out volunteering somewhere. I like being alone most of the time.
I want to tell my 30 year old self all about the stuff that will really matter so that I could have cut myself some slack and let the guilt go. I want to tell my daughters who are now 30 somethings that there is little time to waste if you can identify your passion. Stop doing the stuff that doesn't matter at all and do what your passion is. It can only make you happier. Yes, it can make you poor as a church mouse, but happier is way better than money which comes and goes anyway.
I was 40 something when my friend taught me how to put on make-up. I was 40 something when I realized that make-up was as much work as I had thought it might be, and tossed it all away. Except the lip stuff.
Everyone looks a little more like they are still breathing if they have a little lip stuff on when being photographed. And that is my simple lesson on aging.
If you look like you are breathing, you probably are. And that is good news. If you are breathing you can do almost anything. At any age.
No comments:
Post a Comment