I’m stealing an idea from Laura Bruno Lilly (laurabrunolilly.com). In 2014, she wrote a post, musing about entering and exiting “the nines,” that is, the last year of one’s decade. You can read it here: Here’s to the Nines!
Up until my 60s, I looked forward to getting older. In fact, I’d argue that my 50s were my best decade (at least as of this writing). Then, as soon I turned 60, my body turned on me. I had been looking forward to my 60s, if for no other reason than I would be closer to retiring from state government. And even though my 60s started rough, I indulged in fantasies of spending my retirement going on long walks and bicycle rides and spending hours at the gym. I’d show my body who was boss!
Fast forward to now, this month, today.
Sixty-nine. 69. 6. 9. Backwards, 69 is 96. Okay, let’s not think about that.
The last time I felt trepidation with transitioning from one age to another was when I went from 40 to 41 and realized that I still didn’t have a “proper” career, I was still struggling with where I fit in the world.
I’m no longer worried about having a career (or even a job, thankfully), but as I lean into being 69, I am wondering where I fit in the world.
My body reminds me daily that my dream of an intensely physically active retirement was just that, a dream. Mind you, I still practice yoga twice a week, work out at the gym twice a week, and walk in my neighborhood at least twice a week. So I’m not a couch-potato. And yet …
In my mind and my heart, I still feel like that 41-year-old, adrift but with time enough ahead of me to figure things out. But how I see myself is, no doubt, radically different from how others see me. My anticipated stamina always falls short, as I learned when I recently spent time with my 4-year-old grandniece and 6-year-old grandnephew. Someone said that being around children keeps an old person young.
Ah, no, no, no, nope.
What really gets me about this whole aging thing is how altered my sense of time is. Time seems to travel at the speed of light: I’ve just turned 69 when I could have sworn that I hit the big 6-0 only yesterday. Yet when sitting in the doctor’s reception area or waiting for a light to turn green or checking my clock once more on a sleepless night, Time seems to plod forward like a tortoise.
The only time that Time seems to work for me is when I’m watching a Downey Woodpecker parent train its young to eat suet from the cage we have dangling from a pole. Or on those sleepless nights when Raji is nestled behind my knees and kicking my butt with his paws while he dreams of chasing pigeons. Or when I lose myself in my novel, or someone else’s novel. At those times and a few others, Time ceases to exist for a while. By the time I realize that Time has passed, it’s too late to worry about it.
I started writing this post two weeks ago, anticipating that I’d be obsessing about turning 69 on this day. Then, a couple of days ago, my husband shared with me a post by Timothy Snyder, Of Stoicism and Stupor. Snyder quotes from Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations:
“What a tiny part of the boundless abyss of time has been allotted to each of us, and this is soon vanished in eternity; what a tiny part of the universal substance and the universal soul; how tiny in the whole earth the mere clod on which you keep.”
I know little about stoicism, but this quote helped me realize that in my own small way, I’ve been and am stoic. I’ve always found more comfort in feeling that I am just a tiny part of the world, that so much out there is so much bigger and more beautiful than me. I don’t want the weight of responsibility and constant disappointment that comes with hubris, that comes with pride.
“Why then this stress, why not be content with an orderly passage through the brief span you have.”
Indeed, why not?
Under our current global and local circumstances, it might seem selfish to “be content.” And yet …
“Dig inside yourself,” wrote Marcus Aurelius, “inside there is a spring of goodness ready to gush at any moment, if you keep digging.”
So, this is my birthday present to me: to dig inside myself, find the goodness in me, see it in others, practice it, all the while knowing I’m a mere speck in this bright, vast universe.
My two fur babies who keep me grounded.
Thank you for reading!
P.S. The featured photo is of a wasp and bee enjoying the flowers of our Clustered Mountain Mint.
Marie at 1 Write Way 