I can’t keep up with my favorite work out gal, Kelli, on Fitness Blender. Well, I guess I can typically “keep up” – I’m just not as limber as her. Her moves are so graceful and lithe. I used to be like that too. I’m not now, so I did what many people do while crackling and huffing on my exercise mat: I blamed my age.
But then I noticed something. Her husband, Daniel, is not as flexible as her either and he’s younger than me as well. As I was doing lunges, I had my own little epiphany: I join with others and blame many of my problems on age – but does it really deserve it?
There are 12-year-olds that are less flexible than me. Do they blame their age? I doubt it.
My Mom once joked that she was getting old because she walked into the room and forgot what she was in there for. I’ve been doing that since my teenage years. I’ll admit it: I’m very flighty and easily distracted.
This leads me to another scenario. An older friend of mine fell off his bike while on a ride. He blamed his age. But then I am half his age, and I did the same thing about a month later. I didn’t blame my age. The bike path was rocky, and I was tired.
Do you see where I’m going with this?
Many of the problems I blame on age can happen at any age. Are there things I can blame on age? Sure – but I just want to stand up a little bit for old age. I think it’s definitely gotten an unfair reputation when so many old age problems can manifest themselves at well, any age.
For about 3 seconds, I lived my own musical. Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast, step aside! My 3 seconds was an experience to remember.
I was driving to work, seriously taking in the fantastic beat of Ini Kamoze’s single album Here Comes the Hot Stepper. The lyrics filled my car: “Excuse me Mr. Officer…” And right as the CD and my enthusiastic singing united together, I had my moment: A police car drove by. And I sung my heart out to him. I WAS the lyrical gangster talking to Mr. Officer.
It wasn’t until over 8 years later that I lived another musical, where I was lost in Istanbul, with a group of people, while ironically, the radio on our cab played the song, “Lost in Istanbul.”
These ironic, little musical moments make aging that much easier, worth looking forward to, and slightly hysterical; I wish many of them for you, too.
When one of my good friends was pregnant, we were out walking in a more upscale shopping district, and we passed a children’s store that was full of bright, precious, fancy items for children.
Was it practical?
No. And my friend even commented, “This is a good shop for Grandma and Grandpa gifts.” Translation: this was definitely more special occasion items. Not really practical for a parent who needs durable onesies (unfortunately no sequins and bows) and needs them in bulk!
But little did my friend know, she gave me some comfort.
I don’t have any children, and I’m not a grandma and grandpa – but I can be that special person that buys the product with a little extra. I can bring over the item that is not always necessary, but definitely fun.
In essence, I can help create that special occasion, while the children in my life can be mine.
Aging While Childless Entries: I want to help empower those who (for whatever reason) are living childless, so that they can further embrace their situation and find joy. A life filled with children is a life filled with treasures---but so is a life without children.
I heard the dreaded ripping sound while sitting at my desk and rearranging my cramped legs. (Ironically, I was wearing jeans already “stylishly ripped” in just the right places to make my casual Friday fashion statement.)
I did a quick check of my pants when I discovered IT: A baby tear in the fabric over the knee. It was subtle, blended with the other rips, and was the genuine thing. I actually had a rip in my jeans that was TRULY an accidental rip in my jeans.
Many of us spend so many hours and beauty products trying to be casual and to arrange the “I just casually tossed my hair into a messy bun” look.
This was my messy bun moment. All mine.
And while the older we get, the more we get to collect these moments. And laugh.
Creator of Love, Auntie.