Dear Older Me,
I’m a little bit afraid of you. And for you.
I have not taken particularly good care of our body. I’ve fed our mind and fostered our creativity all the while allowing us to adventure. That I’ve done those things should give you rich memories to look back on. It’s been quite a ride. But our body is on a downhill descent that feels a bit as if we’re riding strong currents leading to a waterfall. Eventually, we are going to go over the falls to a different ride. Perhaps one that is a peaceful glide through the water; or perhaps another wild ride like the last 62 years.
I’m not even going to hazard a guess as to what the next twenty years might hold. The last twenty have been surprising and the twenty before that even more so.
I hope we stay intact. That our voice remains a guide assuring that this too shall pass when in the rough waters and laughing in delight at the scenery at the other times. I do wonder if this last transition will turn us into more spectator than participant in life. Will we begin to make our world smaller? Turn inward?
I’m already a constant examiner of my life – the one I’m living now, the one I lived, and the one I’m creating. I can’t imagine becoming even more introspective, but perhaps. It’s exhausting to even think about the possibility.
Possibility. There’s the rub. I’ve been told that what is possible reduces itself a bit year by year until there is nothing but the inevitable. Dear God, I hope not.
I’ve gotten through life with hope for and anticipation of good things to come.
I’m making peace with the idea that my body is beginning to impose limitations. I am stiff and old injuries haunt me.
I can’t sprawl in the grass and look for animals in the clouds any longer. I would never be able to get up. My hearing is fading which is disastrous when one is almost wholly auditory. I experience the world through sound and words and this inner voice in our head that is sometimes akin to talk radio.
I have no trouble hearing our voice, but it is getting harder to eavesdrop on strangers and invent stories about their life, their hopes, and their dreams.
I think it is a given our inner voice will remain at least until the end and maybe onto the next life. We’ve become friends. The insecure youth that we were has developed some moxie.
Let’s keep that. Shall we? We fought hard for it. To get there. To develop the courage to fail. It takes a lot of pressure off knowing we don’t have to be perfect; We just have to do the best we can under our present limitations.
Let’s go out in grace and style. Observing, yes, but participating in the dance. We weren’t meant to be a wallflower.
Let’s make a pact, shall we?