And you may ask yourself, well
How did I get here?
-Talking
Heads
While
swimming the other morning, I pondered the very young lifeguards (probably
local community college students), and wondered what they make of the
grey-haired swimmers who populate the pool most mornings.
Given
that 40-year-olds seemed impossibly old and barely worthy of my notice when I
was 20, I imagine the lifeguards view us (who are well beyond 40) as ancient and
not meriting a thought beyond making sure we don’t drown.
I
think about these young lifeguards as I prepare to travel east for my 50-year
high-school reunion. I will come back to
the lifeguards in a moment, but allow me to first share my initial reaction to
the notices I received about the reunion.
Astonishment--plain
and simple.
Really?
Already?
I
think she may have missed the point. (How
could she not? She is 29).
Regardless
of how I look or feel (fine, thank
you), the years ahead are looking
more finite. When I was very young, the
end of life was a distant fog. I
understood that it would come, but it was so far away—old age itself seemed so
improbable--that it hardly warranted my attention.
In
mid-life, I had young children and was too busy to think much about the end. It was out there, but I had daughters to
raise and a job to go to.
But
now. Now, I have reached the point where
the end has weight and heft. It is in
sight. It may not come for 30 more years
– my family is long-lived – but it is clear that it will come.
I
do not write about this because I am afraid.
I am not. Nor am I unhappy. I am just surprised. Closely following upon my surprise is
gratitude. I am grateful to have made it
this far -- I love my life.
Here
is what those young lifeguards can’t see and won’t know for a very long
time. We 60-somethings may not look like
much, but my life and the lives of my friends are rich and full of meaning.
And
we have something those lifeguards don’t have.
We
have time.
Does
it seem odd that I say we have time right after saying that it has been 50
years since high school? Well, of
course, I don’t mean that we have endless years stretching ahead, but while
those years last, we do have time.
If
we had kids, they are grown. Most of us
have seen our parents through their final years. If we are fortunate, our 30- or 40- or
50-hour-a-week work is done. We can now
take up paid or volunteer work that feeds our souls.
We
have time to do the things that we love.
To write or to garden or to paint. We have time to travel. To read.
To take classes.
For
me, the most precious things for which I have time are relationships and the
causes that were given short shrift during mid-life. I can hang out with friends or daughters or
grandkids. I have time to do things with
my husband. And I am delighted to be able to devote time to the social justice activities that are dear to my heart.
When
I retired, a friend said to me, “We have had our cake. These years are the icing.” So, I don’t envy those lifeguards their
youth. I had mine. And I don’t mind that I am all but invisible
to them. I am too busy enjoying the icing,
and I intend to continue to do so for as long as I am able.
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