Before I turned forty-five, I really had no understanding of older people. I heard what they said, and I noticed that some things were more difficult for them, but I truly didn’t know how they felt until it happened to me. I turned sixty this past April, and it has rocked my world.
During the past fifteen years or so, I have noticed my senses slowly growing duller. I don’t hear as well as I used to. My eyesight isn’t as good, and the later the evening wears on, the more my sight blurs. Food doesn’t taste the same to me. My memory has take a huge hit in the past five years.
Yesterday, I started thinking about what I miss the most. I miss being able to read late into the night. I miss the unlimited energy I used to have. I miss being able to remember everything in detail. I have finally accepted that I must write everything down and keep the list in a place that I check often, because I’ll forget where I put the list. I miss pretty shoes. I miss being able to think about several things at the same time. I miss my parents. I miss those big family gatherings we had when they were alive. I miss feeling needed. I am very busy, but I now realize that I’m not indispensable. Many others can do anything I can do, and they may do it faster or better than I can.
Let’s end this on a happy note. While I miss many aspects of being young, there are plenty of things I don’t miss. I like that I’m more patient than I used to be. I don’t miss worrying about how I look all the time. I may not be smarter, but I am wiser. I don’t care about impressing people any more. I am what I am. Love me or not; it’s your choice. I’ll survive either way. I dance and sing when I feel like it, and I’m not embarrassed. I am confident of my abilities now, and I don’t miss the feeling of doubting myself. I have accepted that I will never be a tiny person, though I would like to lose weight. I’m trying to smile more and whine less. I am more content. I am finally comfortable in my own skin.