Soon I will be 60 years old. Just admitting that fact takes courage. I don't like to think about my age and its implications. I don't feel like someone who is almost sixty. Someone once stated, "A woman at 50 has the face she deserves." I don't believe that is true, but I am often told I don't look my age - whatever that means. Many years ago on my 30th birthday my Aunt Anne called me and we discussed the inevitability of growing older. She mentioned that she had recently visited her uncle, who was 90 years old and living in a nursing home. One of the things he said to her has haunted me for years: "I don't remember growing old." At age 30 my whole life was ahead of me. The young don't think about age and mortality. At age 60 I view things with older, if not wiser, eyes. Thirty years have given me a new understanding of the words uttered by my great uncle. Only those who have lived long enough to experience the aging process can understand that the changes are so gradual we don't realize it is happening until an ache, the death of a friend, or the face in the mirror brings us to full realization that time has passed.
I often think of my life as seasons of the year. The first 20 years were spring--years of growing, discovery, and branching out. The salad days that the young think will never end when we are full of hope and make plans for the future. The next 20 years were summer - completing my education, getting married, and having children - days reminiscent of a summer break - filled with endless days of work and activities that upon reflection passed far too quickly. The days have blended together, leaving memories both sweet and bittersweet. Autumn was filled with days where I saw my years of effort bear fruit - my children graduating from high school and attending colleges, seeing them break the apron strings that bound us together, and taking tentative steps towards a future without me. For me, it was a time of endings.
And now, as I approach the winter of my life, the days have lost some of their color. Each day passes more quickly than the one before, most without any purpose or accomplishment. I procrastinate more each day. It is easier to think about the past than look forward to the future. And yet something about the human spirit keeps us from giving up. The old want to live and the sick want to survive. The poor dream about winning the lottery and hope for something better. Even on the gray days, winter holds the promise of another spring. So today I am embarking on a one year journey to change my life. I don't have have any major goals or expect drastic changes. I want to move forward instead of looking back, accomplish something every day, and discover new things along the way. I may be getting older, but I refuse to grow old.
"But where was I to start? The world is so vast, I shall start with the country I knew best, my own. But my country is so very large. I had better start with my town. But my town, too, is large. I had best start with my street. No, my home. No, my family. Never mind, I shall start with myself." ~Elie Wiesel
Tomorrow I will begin 365 days of change. I will try to exercise more and eat healthier. I will work in the yard, take more walks, and stop to appreciate all of the little things in life. I will sort through the clutter that has overtaken my life and dispose of what I don't need. I will start a project and see it completed. I will encourage my son to get on with his life. I will contact someone whose presence in my life I miss. I will try something I have never done before or do something that I haven't done in a long time. I will appreciate those who make my life worth living. I will do something to make a difference in the world, so when I am gone it will matter that I lived. I will live each day to the fullest and remember that every day is a gift. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.
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