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Among Friends |
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| Embrace the senior discount I'd just strapped down a dozen 2-by-8 boards to my pickup's lumber rack and overseen the loading of four 40-pound concrete piers and three 80-pound bags of cement when a young man in a souped-up truck pulled up next to me at a stoplight. "Hey, Auntie, you got the time?" he yelled into my lane. I looked around. Auntie? Where was his auntie? "Hey, Auntie, I think I'm late. What time is it?" He was staring straight at me, so I yelled back "a quarter to noon." The light changed, and we parted. But the young man's greeting stuck with me. "Auntie" is an affectionate local term for an elderly woman. The kid had called me "old." I woke up early on my birthday this week and faced my mirror in the harsh morning light. Staring back were new wrinkles, crow's feet, a blurring upper lip line, a second chin and an unruly cap of silver hair. 61? How did I get here? My body knows. Two knee operations, but they still make noise. The left side of my jaw looks like a ventriloquist's dummy's, gratis of an ornery horse who long ago necessitated my 38 stitches. My feet are two sizes bigger than when I started down my adult path. But in the past decade my heart rate and blood pressure have gone down, and my mind feels fresher than ever. Unlike each of the last 10 birthdays, I didn't dread this one. There is liberation in knowing that most of my big losses and their attendant pain are behind me. I'm also letting go of regrets. I can't get back that year between college and career in which I should have traveled the world without responsibility or schedule. I should have taken a leave of absence from my job to care for my dying mother. I wish I'd been a better stepmother. Hindsight offers self-forgiveness. On the downside of middle age, I tell myself I did the best I could. I haven't mastered living within my seams and my means, but I'm getting better at it. I can now leave dirty dishes in the sink, give away the ironing pile to the Salvation Army and toss out unanswered cards from two Christmases ago. Between 45 and 55, I was middle-aged and edgy, undoing most of my rote-learned behavior and rewriting my own rules. I know myself pretty well now. I am not the dewy-eyed idealist of 25, the ambitious team player of 35, the family caregiver of 45, or the independent entrepreneur of 55. I am a composite of every character role I've ever played. At 61, I feel at home with who I have become -- a lifelong learner, a romantic with itchy feet who loves storytelling and hanging out with young people, makes a mean meatloaf and does not suffer fools. It wasn't until I passed 50 that I taught my first high school class as a volunteer writing coach, began learning Italian, paddled an outrigger canoe. After 50, I became a hands-on builder of my own house, co-authored two books, bought a moped, fired up a chainsaw, saw Paris and ate buffalo. After 30 years, I'm still married to the same man. In the interim, we've held half a dozen different jobs, including one -- blogging -- that didn't exist when we met. My best friend is the same one standing next to me in my 7th birthday party photos. Two months ago, I didn't know my newest friend. Last Saturday, I participated in her wedding. I see myself as young and hip. The world sees me as old and surely out of touch. Pigeonholers beware: Do not stereotype people by their appearance. I've known folks who were mentally old in their 20s and senior citizens with whiz kid minds and hearts. Instead of dwelling on what I don't have, I tally up what I do: good health, my husband's love, my dog's devotion, a mostly paid-for house and at least six friends who like me well enough to carry my coffin. Now that I am an "auntie," I get half-price movie tickets, complimentary massages at the senior center and cut-rate entry into our national parks. I'll fit those in between learning to sail, finishing our kitchen cabinets from our own tree and applying to graduate school. |
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