Gee, did I? Appreciate that I could wake up, jump out bed, throw on my clothes, leap down the stairs and run out the door? Run across a field, dance for hours and function with little rest? I didn’t, because when you are young, you think you have a long time to be young, and being 40 years old seems like light years away.
The years from 40-60 went by in a blink. I did a lot. The years were full of many ups and downs. It sure wasn’t boring. But pass they did, until I had to admit I was years into the process of being “middle aged”. ( That’s all I’ll admit to, because they say 60 is the new 40. Ha! Written by a true 60 year old. )
Now, I wake up in the morning and contemplate how bad I really need to pee because the process of actually sitting up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, stand up and shuffle into the bathroom, trying to not fully open my eyes, and admit that every single part of my body hurts . . . takes deep thought. I don’t want to wake up to my day, not just yet.
Once it gets going I’m on a roll, and since I’m deeply addicted to writing my book, “Inside the Forbidden Outside” ( title change from “InsideOut”, two chapters linked to in this blog) I will sit here for the better part of at least 12 hours, getting up to make dinner and watch a movie with my old hippie, and occasionally make a stab at some kind of housework, teach a piano student or try to make some money selling Avon. http://youravon.com/sonni. (What shameless plugging for myself.! You can order online. Yay.) Oops, I can’t forget about Ambit Energy, my other moneymaker. A girl (older woman) has to eat! After dinner I’m back at the computer until the wee hours of the morning.
So, getting back to my post about my mornings, I get a cup of coffee and creep back under the covers, with some kind of painkiller laying on my tongue, grab my Nook off the bedside table and boot it up. It takes a lot of effort to do any kind of serious work in a timely manner on my Nook because I keep trying to make it behave like my laptop, and it sometimes pisses me off and dumps whatever I’m writing, like it did this morning. That is what got out of bed today.
I lay like that for at least an hour, which is why I try my damnedest never to plan on doing anything critical in the morning, and wait for the pain to slowly subside.
Youth – oh how easy things are for you physically when you are young. Leap tall buildings in a single bound and not break anything on the way down. The other day I had a minor fall in my mother’s garden, stepping in mulch and my foot sank and my knee bent into a plant and down I went, my body twisting in weird ways, and I couldn’t get up. I go, SP and MV, (which is the acronym for shit,piss and monkey vomit, taught to me many years ago by my mother, that sweet woman who cringes when I cuss in her presense) And . . . I, in my embarrassment was in full view of the street. The mulch was soft and I couldn’t get a firm hold on the ground with the foot that wasn’t attached to the knee in the plant (poor plant) and lift my body weight up with the other leg. Finally, with much grunting, I was able to grab hold of a post and pull myself up. Two days later and my body is still sore from moving muscles that had been frozen together during hibernation this winter. There is more leaping tall building with one bound in my life!
I think of my mother who will be 82 in a few days. I can see the look on her face at times when a pain somewhere grabs her, and I think OMG and she is 22 years older than I am and if I feel like I do now, what will it feel like then? But what she has in spades is optimism and a zest, APPRECIATION for being alive that young people just don’t have.
So, I guess it is a trade-off. Youth for wisdom. Youth for experience. Youth for appreciation. Youth for memories. IF, when you get old you lose your appreciation for being alive, and lose the ability to have dreams and hopes, if you can no longer look at a flower and just stand there and appreciate the beauty, then you have lost the point of your live and wish it could just-be-over.
Looking back at my life, seeing the things I did, the mistakes I made, the people I loved, (and still do) the lessons I have learned, spurs me on to keep my dreams alive and to create new ones as I age. Welcome the lines and wrinkles, the gray hair and the skin that begins to sag because each one is a story in itself. Through all the experiences I have had made they have made me who I am. Is this called aging gracefully?
I only wish I could do it with . . . a little less pain.