Liberation

Paul and I are getting older. How do I know? Let me count the ways:

1. A young man admires Paul's new Challenger R/T and they discuss engines for a few minutes -- at the pharmacy drive-through where we are picking up meds to lower cholesterol levels, soothe arithic pain, etc.

2. We plan activities based on our ability to stay awake.

3. We've replaced talking about the kids with talking about the granddaughter.

4. Articles we come across about retirement have become relevant and interesting.

5. It appears that doctor's appointments have outpaced all other events on our activity calendars.

I told Jenny the other day that I had a moment of dread when I thought about turning 57. I haven't had an age aversion reaction since... I was 37, I think. She said nice things of course, but it wasn't necessary. I am OK in my skin. I wish there was a lot less of it, but still I am OK. Aging presents you with the gift of acceptance. You care so much less about what you look like. It's a shedding of vanity and insecurities. Suddenly, you no longer care what other people think about you and what you look like. Instead you are curious about what they think of real stuff: community, politics, art, life. It's liberating.

I really wouldn't trade my age for anything. It's just that sometimes it hits me, I turn around and I'm a grandmother. I turn around and two of my kids are married and have mortgages. I turn around and my husband ... actually, he's looking better to me every day. He too has been liberated by age. It's nice.