The shriveling. That’s what I’m ruminating about today.
Two days before I have the luxury of turning forty-five, while my exquisite friend Bari just passed away at forty-five, I’m focusing on the shriveling of my belly and what sometimes feels like the shriveling of my being.
My body which holds too-many-to-count-can’t-
I’ve still got my hair. Thank Gd I’ve still got my hair.
I am blessed. I get it. To get older is to be alive.
Also getting older brings an increased consciousness of hardship and bullshit and a lesser desire to tolerate that bullshit.
Sadness becomes a bigger ingredient baked into the who that I am.
The happy go lucky girl I once was or some days pretended to be- she isn’t even a fantasy anymore. Gritty, honest, funny, open and wise (by no choice of my own) is part of this phase.
Almost forty-five acknowledges the truth of my circumstances.
My life is good. But it is so damn hard to feel good.
My life is good. But it could be better. I want it to be better.
My life is good. But there is no certainty it will stay this way.
My husband likes to remind me that things are always changing.
I am part of a super close group of six girls who through the past twenty years have laughed ourselves to tears. And cried. A lot.
In the past seven years, between the six of us, we have lost three moms, three mother in laws, one father in law and most recently one beautiful younger sister.
Staggering how quickly we are reminded where we are all headed.
So of course, almost forty-five includes the over abundance of worry over the things that don’t matter- like my shriveling-
And the over abundance of worry over the more important things that will probably be ok- like my teenagers and my husband.
I try really hard to steer clear of worrying about the things that I know will not be ok. This is one of my greatest challenges.
I think back to my mom at my age. She had no idea there were just twenty years left of her short life.
Would she have done anything differently?
Would I have?
tick tick tick. Somedays, today, my body feels like a cross between a time bomb and the sands in the hourglass from
“The Days Of Our Lives Soap Opera.”
But I can choose how to work with the timer… If I’m really under the life-gun so to speak then I better get cracking.
There’s so much more to do.
There’s so much more to give.
And even while I continue to shrivel climbing the professional youth-obsessed-entertainment ladder, I will do so honoring my almost forty-five years.
Yeah, I do Botox, color my hair, diet, exercise and wear hoop earrings in an attempt to have a “younger” looking appearance.
But I do so while admitting I’m a bit long in the tooth.
And while I still have my teeth, I’ve got plenty to smile about.
How do you feel about getting older?
Jenny, you speak to my soul. My mom would have been 64 on Feb 7th and I will be 44 on February 8th. The passing of our mothers makes us see the world so differently. I worry about everyone and everything and wonder how to stop. Your post reminds me I’m not alone and somehow, I will continue to enjoy this life I still have. Funny thing is, even through my worry, I feel freaking fabulous about my age! I wouldn’t go back to my 20’s if you paid me! Happy birthday Jenny!
Loved this so much Jenny! I am 45 and lost my dad last year. I seriously have felt in the midst of a mid-life crisis for the past six months or so. I feel too wise and miss my more carefree days. We are the sandwich generation now in the busiest and most responsibility-laden part of our lives. It’s tough…raising teens and losing or worrying about aging parents. I bounce between wanting to be engaged and optimistic about life for my kids, and being apathetic because really, we’re all just going to die anyway (ugh…I know that’s depression, which is so wrong because my life is truly awesome). Anyway, thanks for writing such a relatable article.
We have all heard the phrase, at one time or another, that “life sucks and then you die”. Not quite sure where this maudlin phrase came from yet, unfortunately, sometimes this is as true to us as many other of the many trite quotes.
I thank god everyday that I have not yet experienced the death of either my mother or father (poo,poo, poo, as Jenny says). Yet, as they approach eighty years of age, I ruminate and worry about it on a daily basis. I cannot even imagine a world with my parents not in it. So I live in denial. I won’t hear my mothers will, I won’t hear about her desire to be cremated, and I won’t hear of the cemeteries they choose for their final burial. Yes, I know. This is insane and irresponsible. I am just leaving all those details to my siblings when and if that day comes. (I know, I know, there is no “if”. It just made me feel better saying it that way.)
At fifty three years of age, I have begun to see my own mortality. And it sucks!! I move slower, I have a slow thyroid, the texture of my hair has dramatically changed and I am in the midst of the hell they call menopause. And on top of all that, my ex husband left us a few years back to be with a thirty three year old. Icing on the cake. But if I could go back ten years to talk to my forty something self, I would tell her to lighten up, enjoy your life, find your passion (outside of your kids – I was obsessed with making mine happy to the point of insanity),, communicate, communicate and communicate some more, with all the people in your life, but especially with your spouse. Unfortunately, with my ex’s career as a surgeon, we became two ships that passed in the night. The day I discovered his indiscretion, he cried to me, ” I can’t believe you actually love me.” Always pay attention to your marriage because your kids will always be your kids; not so much with husband.
Anyway, as to your question about how I feel about getting older, I could definitely say it sucks. But at the same time, the alternative sucks even more. So I get up each day, put one foot in front of the other and try to appreciate all that I do have. I have great kids, the BEST parents, sister and brothers and an opportunity to discover who I want to be “when I grow up”. Not exactly where I imagined I would be but certainly not in a bad place. I have money for doctors, for manis and pedis, to color my graying hair, and enough money to indulge my kids as I see fit. In the realm of things, growing up is not so bad!
Jill