Sometimes I prefer carpet to chair. I can still criss-cross-applesauce. I’m a dashboard foot-propper gal. I can bend over, touch fingertips to floor.
But my knees complain on a climb. I move slower. Clutter and chaos confuse me. I tire faster. I fear falling. My bones are soft.
“I don’t want to be like my mom,” I worry to my doctor.
She spent years in front of typewriter or computer and suffered unrelenting pain from compression fractures in her back as well as carpal tunnel syndrome. She confined herself to a wheelchair. And her thyroid was whack. She died at 82, just about a month shy of 83. And was only 20 years older than I am. My son is 23. Time whooshed. Time will whoosh. What can I still pack for the final journey?
“You are not your mother,” he reminds me. Again.
I cling to the reality that my health is better than hers was at my age. That I’m careful, for the most part, to include all important exams on my annual calendar.
But though I’m really good at sitting still to see the Maker’s mark around me, though I’m getting better at reclaiming castaway moments, I’m not so great at the care and feeding of mind and body.
I drink in the beauty of this place where time stands still. A single crepe myrtle bloom greets me on the path, and I’m transported to another place where the trees grew below our bedroom window. I’m surprised to see its flower in the fall. I stroke the bark, and memories run like a river. But I’ve forgotten so much.
Had I turned around, I would have seen the explosion of blooms on the tree behind me.
Years ago we were told not to worry about what my father-in-law didn’t remember because his brain was so stuffed with memories he couldn’t possibly retrieve them all.
“The human brain became the most powerful in the world under conditions where motion was a constant presence. Our brains evolved out of the necessity to think as we move. Physical activity is cognitive candy,” writes John Medina in his book Brain Rules.
And later that evening John asks us, “Is there an independent variable to predict how to age?” And he answers himself. “Yes! The presence or absence of a sedentary lifestyle!”
He goes on to tell us that the people around him who age most beautifully are those who don’t retire, who stay busy, who keep moving.
I wrap these words around me, as warm as a red quilt. My husband doesn’t plan to retire at least until his 70s. And his uncle worked until he died in his 90s.
I don’t want to get old. But I have no control over that.
I do, though, want to age beautifully, gracefully. As much as is in my power to do so. Which means I have to make a more intentional effort to move. To swallow this magic bullet (#10.)
I also posted over at bibledude.net today. It kind of goes along with this. You might enjoy it.
And this dear Sandy is “soul candy” — sweet and delicious and inviting. Bless You!
And you! 🙂
Your photos are stunning and your reflection on aging certainly speaks to my heart. No, we can’t help getting older, but we can ever remain young in our outlook on life.
Blessings to you!
When I was a child, I wanted to be an adult. Now that I’m an adult, I want to be a child. 🙂
I like the way you think. Having met you, even if it were ever so briefly, I can assure you that you are aging beautifully. You are also young at heart.
Lately, I’ve been reading a lot about this magic bullet. I have to find a way to move more, too, despite dealing with pain.
Thank you for sharing. I just told someone today that none of us are getting younger. But I do hope I am getting better with age.
Love you, friend!
Thank you, friend.
I think John said somewhere that anything that involves movement is helpful. Even if we’re lounging on the sofa, we can be moving something.
I’m so glad I had the chance to meet. I hope we can again soon.
We have much in common. My mother was one month shy of 83 when she passed and right now I’m 20 years younger than that…and I think of that often…how old my children and grandchildren will be when I’m that age. I do wish that I was as healthy as you are…it’s sometimes hard for me to remember just 3 years ago that I was that healthy…and oh how I want to age gracefully, too, despite my limitations.
I think of things like that, too, Patricia. Like when Lillee’s old enough to drive, I’ll be 77, pushing 80 when she graduates. I wonder if I’ll see my grandgirls marry or every have a great-grand. When I’m 83, my oldest will be pushing 50. Now that’s scary. 🙂
And you, my friend, have a beautiful spirit.
Your words speak to my heart as well. My mother, who passed away at the age of 92, was known to say that aging isn’t for sissies. She lived her days as fully as possible. And she was ready when the time came.
I want to be ready. I want to be all organized and decluttered. I want all the albums in order. I want to know my family’s ready. Because we all know that this could be our last moment this side of heaven.
Beautifully done, friend. We drove back to the airport with John and got more of these glorious tidbits. Such a mind that man has – and I’m so grateful he shared parts of it with us. And that you have captured it so well here.
I hope you took notes. 🙂
Sandy, back in the day when I was learning about teaching young children all the brain research at the time said kids have to move to learn…..(and being a kinesthetic learner, I know how true that is.)
funny how the truth is still the truth 25 years later. So glad John got to share with ya’ll. Now if we could just get teachers to believe this!
He also talked about larks and owls (genetics) and how wouldn’t it be wonderful if schools could group night owl teachers with night owl students. The kids would learn so much better. (And I’m thinking how that would mess up the sports programs.)
Getting old is preferable to the alternative. I have a hunch that you, dear Sandy, will carry it off with style and grace.
Preferable to the alternative. I need to print that out somewhere. 🙂
You make me smile.
Swallowing the bullet with you. Coming to grip with age in community is helpful…
I do spit the bullet out too often. Walking together–yes.