The Joy of Aging

Another year has ticked by and I find myself on the 50 side of my 40s. In less than three years, I’ll reach the landmark 50th birthday and likely have more years behind me than ahead of me. Maybe I’ll change my mind, but I currently have no aspirations to be the 104-year-old woman sharing her secrets to longevity during an interview at the nursing home. (It always seems to be some combination of Dr Pepper, whiskey, and avoiding men, doesn’t it?) Really, living to 80 or 90 seems sufficient. If living another 30 or 40 years is anything like reaching my 30s and 40s, I will be thrilled. The older I get the easier life seems to unfurl. I’m no sage, but I have learned a few things about the side benefits of more wrinkles and sonorous joints:

  1. I have a lot less “phooey” to give. Or I’m all out of “phooey.” Too much of our youth is spent worrying about, well, everything. I spent many a sleepless night when I was younger questioning my choices instead of really living my choices. If you haven’t lay in bed staring at the ceiling and replaying where things went right or wrong in your life, you might be a zombie. Maybe youth, by its very nature, requires more self-reflection. Maybe perpetual anxiety is a survival tool. Whatever the reason, at 47 you won’t find me repeatedly going over the day’s conversations and activities in my head. Nope. I don’t care. The day is done, and a new one is creeping up on me. Besides, my bedtime is now 9:30 P.M. I’m too tired to fret.
  2. I can handle it. A therapist once challenged me as I wrestled with changes to my personal life. I was continually lamenting the what-ifs, and they tended to be very negative what-ifs. After caterwauling about how hard change is and listing all the horrible possibilities looming in the future, the therapist had a simple, life-changing question for me: “Are you telling me you can’t handle it?” Wait, what? No. In my heart and soul I knew that I could handle just about anything. It might be hard, uncomfortable, scary, new, or daunting, but I could handle it. As I’ve aged, handling things is my go-to super power. I may not handle things perfectly or gracefully, but they will be handled. This attitude has helped calm my inner nervous, self-doubting chatter and brought me sweet, sweet peace.
  3. The lightness of being. While it seems I’m always fighting to lose the same 15 pounds (thanks, perimenopause!), I feel emotionally much lighter. I’m less invested in the trivial and more invested in the consequential. I know what matters, and those things get my time and attention. It is freeing to significantly narrow down and reorder my priorities. With age comes a smorgasbord of experiences to navigate. By 40, you know what counts, what pleases your soul, what makes your heart happily tick. If it doesn’t have the power to move me, I’m not moved to pay much attention to it. A huge part of this emotional buoyancy is due to the simplest of words, “No.” I’m sure you’ve heard that “no” is a complete sentence. I recommend using that one-word sentence frequently and heartily. You’ve earned the right to discriminate, guilt-free.

Don’t get me wrong—I have lots of complaints about growing older. A prescription for glasses for night driving lies unfilled on my countertop. I waddle a bit when I first get out of bed as my joints loosen up. Life-long bad habits are still resistant to change. Overall, though, I’m ready to sing the praises of emotional maturity. I’m done over-caring and over-worrying. I’m ready to handle whatever comes my way. “No” is on the tip of my tongue and ready to launch the instant I’m asked to commit to something unpalatable. Sometimes I even find myself cheerfully humming, “No. Nope. Nopity nope.” If 70 or 80 feels as light as 47, I see nothing but glitter and sunshine in my future.     

Lisa
Lisa is a mom and stepmom to Jonah, Jack, Sophia, Henry, Wyatt, and Quinn. Against Waylon’s and Willie’s advice, she’s OK with some of them growing up to be cowboys. A native Houstonian, she moved to San Antonio with her Detroit car guy husband four years ago. Lisa and Todd are raising their brood in the scenic town of Garden Ridge, where she serves on the city Parks and Recreation committee. She’s passionate about raising awareness of Pediatric Autoimmune Neuropsychiatric Disorders. Lisa’s Rocket Scientist dad and King of Malaprops approves of her “blobbing” adventures but thinks she should stay off of MyFace.

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