I’m Old

I am old:

Full-silver-hair old.

Laugh-lines-and-crow’s-feet old.

Forget-why-I-came-into-a-room old.

All of that and more, but the truth is…I LOVE being old.

I don’t remember when I started labeling myself as such, but I say it all the time now:

“Hey, I’m OLD!”

I get different reactions to that proclamation. Adults will usually try to tell me I’m not:

“You’re not old!”

like it is a dreaded label.

On the other hand, my job as an elementary school art teacher gives me a different perspective. When students ask me how old I am, I tell them.

“Whoa that’s OLD!”

they say, and I proudly tell them I am probably older than their grandma, which most often proves to be true. I can tell from their expressions that my youngest students are trying to wrap their mind around that number.

They seem impressed.

One reason I embrace this stage of life is the fact that I made it here at all.

I don’t pretend to understand it. There are those much younger and much better who have already left this life. Some I dearly loved are gone and I don’t know why. When I think of the gifts they possessed and shared with the world, it makes no sense why I am still here and they are not…yet here I am.

I have survived events that could have- and by all logical reasoning SHOULD have- ended my life.

When I was 18 (back in the old days when it was too easy to get a driver’s license and we never wore seat belts), I smashed my car into a telephone pole and hit the windshield so hard…so many cuts and broken bones…I still have wires holding the right side of my skull together. It could have been so much worse, but no one else was hurt. I have scars but no permanent damage.

I’m still here.

I survived cancer as well.

When I was 48, I discovered a lump that turned out to be an aggressive form of breast cancer. After many surgeries and brutal chemotherapy–lots of scars and some missing pieces–

but I’m still here.

Sometimes I stop and realize that I am the oldest person in the room, the building, the vicinity…sometimes by far.

On a backpacking trip with my sister to Havasu Falls in the Grand Canyon, I was probably double the age of most of my fellow hikers…a lot slower, too. It was difficult, but I did it, and I loved it.

On a short but steep hike in Arizona, I had to stop and rest a lot, but I kept climbing and it was worth it. On this hike, I heard a young hiker who passed me quietly ask her friend, “Can you see YOUR mom doing this?”

I don’t try to keep up with them. I hike my own hike because I still can, and I WILL, as long as I am able.

Life is fragile and short. Things can change in the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. We really don’t know why we are here or how much time we have left on this planet. I think about that…ask the “Why?” question, but I am nowhere near an answer.

The only idea I can come up with is that I am still here because I have something I need to do before I leave. I don’t know what it is, but I am okay with that.

I have learned to be more aware, however.

What effect do my words and actions have?

What do I wish I would have said or done?

What do I still want to do?

What am I doing with the time I have left?

Am I taking advantage of my abilities and opportunities while I still have them?

Age and experience will do that, I think:

Questions, honest reflection, a peaceful existence, a truer calling, purposeful actions and meaningful use of time and resources.

I don’t know how much time I have left, and getting older means I have less, but its value has increased. I can see that now in ways my younger self could not…and that is why I love being old.

I title my blog “Not Dead So Far” because I know that someday I will be…

BUT NOT YET.