I never think of myself as old, or middle-aged ... whatever label fits when you're 45. My mother seemed old at 45, my father had died before he reached 45. But I'm not old at 45 - or am I?
At a beading class last week, I caught myself taking my glasses off to see the tiny findings better. Say what? My prescription for my glasses hasn't changed in years, but lately I've been taking off my glasses to read in bed at night. It's the sort of change you hardly notice, until the day you realise it, and then it screams at you all the time.
But I guess I must be old if I have kid who's a month away from being 20? How can she be 20? I remember her being just a tiny baby in my arms. I remember thinking she was so fragile, but also squeezing her little body close to mine being completely overwhelmed with love for the wee beastlet. The beastlet only grudgingly consents to being squeezed close to me now; mostly she only leans her head over for a kiss. So now I kiss her head lovingly, and still feel the same overwhelming love.
I went to a year-end shindig for my mountain biking group last Friday, and looked around the room noticing that most of these women are the same age as my daughter. It made me feel a lot better about being way less courageous than they are on the bike.
It also made me look at my progress on the bike with a far more forgiving eye. I wish I'd learned to ride as a kid, but here I am learning to mountain bike in my forties. Instead of being despondent about not having more courage and less fear, I'm happy about learning new skills. Instead of berating myself for still riding with the beginner group, I'm happy that those trails are fun now instead of white knuckle, stomach turning scary like they used to be.
See! Getting old ain't so bad. You get to be way easier on yourself about things. And old seems to be way less daunting when riding your bike is still so much fun.
At a beading class last week, I caught myself taking my glasses off to see the tiny findings better. Say what? My prescription for my glasses hasn't changed in years, but lately I've been taking off my glasses to read in bed at night. It's the sort of change you hardly notice, until the day you realise it, and then it screams at you all the time.
But I guess I must be old if I have kid who's a month away from being 20? How can she be 20? I remember her being just a tiny baby in my arms. I remember thinking she was so fragile, but also squeezing her little body close to mine being completely overwhelmed with love for the wee beastlet. The beastlet only grudgingly consents to being squeezed close to me now; mostly she only leans her head over for a kiss. So now I kiss her head lovingly, and still feel the same overwhelming love.
I went to a year-end shindig for my mountain biking group last Friday, and looked around the room noticing that most of these women are the same age as my daughter. It made me feel a lot better about being way less courageous than they are on the bike.
It also made me look at my progress on the bike with a far more forgiving eye. I wish I'd learned to ride as a kid, but here I am learning to mountain bike in my forties. Instead of being despondent about not having more courage and less fear, I'm happy about learning new skills. Instead of berating myself for still riding with the beginner group, I'm happy that those trails are fun now instead of white knuckle, stomach turning scary like they used to be.
See! Getting old ain't so bad. You get to be way easier on yourself about things. And old seems to be way less daunting when riding your bike is still so much fun.
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