Where did that come from?

Weirdest thing happens when we get mid-50’s. Things I thought I had mastered rather easily in life, now are becoming something I have to think about in order for it to work like my brain envisions.

Take writing for example. I had a nice round flow to my cursive skills. I enjoyed how my signature evolved with a large round D and then a capital B over just a portion of the D. With fairly large plump letters I would finish the rest of my last name of Barkman. I remember thinking that the letters looked confident and happy, depicting rather nicely how I was feeling.  I agreed that this would become my signature for many, many years.

Then, just last week my D and B became disconnected.  Between my B and the next small ‘a’ there was a larger space than I expected. What??! Where did that signature come from? That’s not me. I hope the bank still accepts the cheque that I wrote to my Contractor for the work that has been completed in my newly renovated kitchen. So far there has been no returned cheque but what changes are happening in my writing hand?

Changes - not only in my house but in my earthly ‘house’ as well apparently. I don’t like the latter! Yes my fingers are turning more because of arthritis but why are the muscles deciding to join that game now as well?

Another change I am suddenly paying attention to, is my conversation skills. I think one thought in my head but the words that are depicting that thought steer me in a very different direction than I intended to go. In frustration I have to back track and start again to explain what I intended to say in the first place. Sometimes I have to apologize for the words that took off out of my mouth with no one in the driver’s seat. It really is uncanny.

I chide myself that I need to slow down and think things through more carefully from now on. My writing and my speaking need to be more intentional.

But then I most certainly will be viewed as slow, incompetent and … can I admit it? – old.

‘Age gracefully’, they say. What does that mean?

‘Look up, smile and be confident.’ And how, exactly, can I feel confident when I have no idea what the rest of my body is going to decide on its own?

I’m seeing this scene being played out in my head. It is a warm sunny day in the park. A peaceful pond with a few ducks has folks sitting on park benches enjoying the summer afternoon. A beautiful poised silver haired beauty queen with a flowing purple dress and summer hat with a rather large brim, is just about to rise from the park bench where she is sitting. She smiles confidently as she greets an oncoming gentleman. She puts her feet beneath her as she pushes herself up with the expected grace, all the while locking her eyes with his gaze. Suddenly her ankle bends over, one leg shoots out in front of her, her elbow that was helping her push off from the bench gives out and she plops back onto the park bench, defeated in her attempt to greet him. But, oh, she is still smiling confidently. Her gaze has not wavered from the gentleman’s eyes. What is that? Is that aging gracefully? She is still smiling. Nothing in her body works, but… oh, she’s smiling!

Everyone ages. I just never anticipated it would be me too for some reason. I am still 35 in my head. I remember the poem my aunt had as a wall hanging in her home, “Serenity:  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.”

I cannot change much of what my body is doing, apart from exercise and taking medication that is keeping arthritis and the pain at its minimum. I can change my acceptance of reality and choose to accept myself as I change. Wisdom… yes. Wisdom is knowing the difference.

I smile!