“Today is the oldest you’ve ever been, and the youngest you’ll ever be again.”—Eleanor Roosevelt
I joyfully, peacefully and comfortably turned 40 last year. I rang in my birthday in a charming house in Colorado with my dearest friends. We made delicious food, wore comfy clothes, went for long walks, laughed and cried, sang songs, went to bed at a reasonable hour and had early morning coffee on the patio. It was perfection.
I reveled in saying “I am 40 years old …” usually followed by something sassy about not caring what people think (false) or something I’m too old for (true) or something about which I should be taken seriously (debatable).
Two brief months later, I suffered a herniated disc in my neck. On my best days, I see every bit of the humor in it. Of course I turned 40 and immediately fell apart! On more difficult days, I wonder if this is the beginning of the end. What’s next, arthritis? High blood pressure? Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up? (Showing my age with that reference, aren’t I?) But every single day, I am grateful.
Most of us can name a handful of friends and acquaintances whose birthday celebrations were too few. We think of them often, more with each passing year. What a privilege and a gift each day becomes when we remember the fragility of life. How trivial each ache and pain, and how welcome each new line in our faces. How wonderful each moment with our loved ones, and how cherished each day we are given.
How fortunate I have always been to be surrounded by “old” people. All four of my grandparents lived well into my teenage years, and two of them lived to be 90. I was raised in rooms full of grandparents, great aunts and uncles, even a few great-greats. As I sit here today, I hear their voices, recall their stories, and their faces frequent my dreams. Now, firmly planted in middle-age, I treasure the close relationship I have with my parents, aunts and uncles, as they have become the elders. I have learned invaluable lessons from each of them, and I continue to absorb their well-earned wisdom and humor every chance I get. I am blessed to witness a new generation of nieces, nephews and cousins making their own place in our family heritage. Stories we share will one day become theirs to tell. The rooms are different now, but they are every bit as full.
Sometimes, I glance at my own hands, and realize they look like my mother’s. I hear the voices of beloved aunts in my words, and I see my grandmothers in my eyes. Each of them lived in service to others, in thoughtful and creative pursuits and in constant laughter. I’m not sure what “aging gracefully” means, but if it doesn’t involve lots of laughing, count me out. George Bernard Shaw said, “You don’t stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.” I hope that’s true.
My days are spent with a few hundred students ages 5 to 11, and their perspectives on aging never fail to entertain. Periodically, I am asked, “Ms. Burt, how old are you?” to which I usually reply, “How old do you think I am?” I have heard everything from 18 to 80, but the truly humorous part is that they are almost never in the neighborhood of a correct answer. Recently, I was using a heating pad on my desk chair, and a first grader very sweetly said, “I think you are maybe getting old. Yep. I see white hairs.” I told him he was exactly right, I am getting old. What a beautiful thing. Herniated discs aside.
Please don’t think for one minute that I am immune to the allure of youth. I am faithfully moisturizing just like everyone else. But do I wish to be young again? A resounding and whole-hearted no thank you. I have rediscovered myself countless times, and will do so countless times more.
Middle-age has its challenges, but there is something inspiring in the knowledge that I have as much life ahead as behind. I have learned and experienced so much, and have much still to learn. With each new year, we become someone different and somehow, at the same time, a truer version of who we have always been. We grow more confident, more resilient, and more purposeful. We learn to let some things go, and stand up or speak out when the situation calls for action. As they say, aging is not for the weak, but I intend to keep doing it as long as I can. I am resolved to cherish my time on this earth, love fiercely, appreciate beauty, remember those who have gone before, be mindful of those who will come after, and never forget to laugh. After all, I am 40 years old.
