To The Younger Me, This is Old

I can confirm; the second half is the best half. 

October began months earlier when months earlier when my mailbox began filling with pamphlets regarding this milestone birthday. “What You Need to Know about Turning 65.” “Make Your Medicare Decision Now.” “Discounts on Hearing Aids for YOU.”

My mail carrier knew everything about me. Crazy, but I didn’t want to announce it to the world. After all, when I was a kid, this was the age when people were either dead, dying, or balancing on the edge of both. They walked with a cane; their clothes, frumpy and their perfume, gardenias; and their breath smelled like onions. I didn’t want to be around those people, unless they were family. Then, I succumbed to the face-to-face because my mama threatened me with a belt. Now, I’m that person I tried so hard to avoid.

Then, two months ago, in the midst of all the junk mail, I received that red, white and blue paper card that indicated I was official. Medicare. Mic drop. Face slap. Reality. And it wasn’t even my birthday yet.

But today is the day. No turning back, not that I would even want to. I like being old. I don’t like the word, but I like the state of mind. I like that I can look back with more wisdom than I had at the time.

I always wondered when the withering old woman skin would appear. Well baby, she’s here, and it only took one morning’s gaze into the mirror for her to appear. However, in addition to the sagging skin and dark circles that weren’t there yesterday, the mirror reveals more of the story.

I still see the teenager singing alto in the church choir wearing the patchwork brown pants mama had just finishing making for this special day; the 16-year-old who decided to graduate early because she hated high school and took a big step toward Truett-McConnell College, a whole 15-miles down the road; a first semester junior at UGA who asked the big linebacker on the bus if anyone was sitting next to him; a summer missionary to Worcester Massachusetts who learned that Northern people were actually not as scary as first thought, and as good as they were, jimmies were even better; a 25-year-old mother catching the first glimpse of her daughter’s eyes, then years later, a boy, then another; a 40-year old daughter watching her mother slowly slip away and realizing her life, as amazing as it was, was nearly at its end; a 45-year-old woman who ran from security into the unknown and learned how to live by faith rather than die by fear; a 48-year-old woman who fell in love for the first time for the last time; and now, a 65-year-old woman who continues to defy odds, live a dominant Plan B, and proudly push past the expected.

I like being in this spot. Old is not the same age as it was when I was growing up. No frumpy clothes here, and for sure, no iridescent moo-moos or waders. Ok, well, sometimes, there’s onion breath when amazing smash burgers are for dinner, and if my knees keep screaming, I foresee a cane down the road. However, I think I am in good company in this mountain house. In addition to the cane, I’ll have a hand to hold, cats to annoy, and my mandatory nighttime Hersey’s chocolate quarter-bar, a must for sweet dreams. Oh, and don’t get me started about sleeping or rather not sleeping.

Even with all the bumps in this road, this road is the one I choose. Cheers to 65 and everything that comes with it. I’m just getting started. I could do without the skin sagging story.. But hey, what are long sleeves for?