I think of aging as amorphous, an ongoing exploration of impermanence, an acceptance of its inevitability.
Aging is opening up to change–becoming it; trying it on–accepting aging’s amorphous aspects without attaching to the energy of the experience.
I have a lifetime behind me, as my last life dawns.
I value routine less, in favor of what is required–on any given day, in any moment. I accomplish more with less.
As a sexagenarian, I can tell you that acceptance of impermanence softens the edge of aging. In acceptance, all is possible–at any age, I suspect–but I came to awareness late in life.
Still, I did arrive.
It is not that life does not shock still. It does. It’s just that a sock in the gut is more a soft thud.
An open heart hurts, it is not without wounds, but in acceptance, there is forgiveness. To carry a debt is a load too large.
I no longer mind the edge of time—sliced into minutes and hours–it does not hold my attention. Time is an imposed construct, an enforced punctuality.
I smooth it out a bit, ever mindful of those who do not–yet.
I think that is part of becoming change, accepting it for the smorgasbord that it is. In the past, I was too picky but it is just as true that I was not selective enough. Thoughtless.
I am in awe of the view aging proffers, a reverence for life revealed. Life is still a smorgasbord. I do not lack.