Younger than springtime
Over lunch a few weeks ago, one of my dearest, slightly younger and most beautiful friends said she had a confession. We hear each other’s mea culpa regularly, with the endpoint always the same: so, what’s the lesson?
“It’s finally hit me,” she began, “that I will grow old, regardless of what I do.” Despite chemical peels and Botox® and Pilates, “nothing will prevent my becoming that elderly lady I never intended to be.”
Understand, said her friend (aka, me) who had, just that week, marveled at the “monkey lines” in her mirror and pondered if the small vision deficit was a trade-off sent by some loving goddess. But we weren’t whining, we agreed, we were searching.
We went first to the societal dimension. Never mind that 60 is the “new 40” in Vogue, in life, 60 becomes 70 and 80 and 90. If we’re fortunate. Next, we ventured into the psychological. Is it really as simple as being as young as one feels? What mental health techniques can we employ? Finally, we leaped into the physical. About the best we can do is stay focused on function, we concurred. Including the one-leg stand-up/sit-down my trainer friend Amanda calls the “so you can use the bathroom by yourself when you’re 80” exercise.
When I return to Denver after this milestone birthday celebration, I’ll share one more lesson I’ve learned from my first-and-still-teaching Mom. Make gratitude a minute-by-minute practice. Fractured vertebrae? Be grateful for the medications that keep pain manageable. Lost a partner? Give thanks for the happy years you had. Losing flexibility? Never miss a keep-moving exercise session with Joan.
I’ll take her word on it.
Because she’s already planning next year’s birthday celebration
And she just reminded me: tomorrow is spring.