I visit several people who are in their 90s. Old people, I call them. Sometimes I refer to them as my older friends. Both are true, but I have to laugh at myself for not putting myself in the category of old. When I’m with young people, I am old. When I am with older people, I am young. One could say that it’s all relative, and sometimes it is. But the truth is that anyone reaching toward her 80th birthday is old, even people like me who feel and look young!
I took a three mile walk today. Because I have the stamina, my thoughts, as a soon to be octogenarian, drifted from my body to my emotional status.
Here’s what popped into my head: I want fewer calendar obligations. For example, I promised to help greet and bring brownies to the church concert on Saturday. No big deal; my choice. And yet, this little ‘have-to’ feels bulky. Definitely an age thing.
As an old woman I’m thinking that I’ll be careful next time I say yes. Hmm, will I play the age card? Can I? Dare I? Need I?
Maybe just say, “No.” Maybe just don’t volunteer. Clear the calendar!
I am a 78 year old white, educated, privileged woman, in excellent health, with a wonderful family. I go to church and travel by myself to Italy and Scotland. That’s my public vita, my public persona. But that’s not all who I am. I have secrets, secrets of an old woman. So let me say some more.