The Season of Aging

Here in southwest Colorado, we have four glorious distinct seasons.  The “season” I am experiencing now is not like the four seasons of the year that I know will be coming back each year I celebrate another birthday.  This Season of Aging – it’s finite. 

As each year of seasons move through my time awareness, I adjust.  Sometimes I am sad to see that season complete, and at the same time excited what the new season will bring.  The season of aging I am experiencing now will never come again.  I will not get any younger – biologically anyway – I will never do what I did in my 30’s, 40’s, or even 60’s. 

My last post/letter “Time to Let Go – of Llama Trekking” has brought this seasonal change of my own aging to a very emotional and difficult awareness.  I don’t want to let go of my llama trekking, I don’t want to hike or run slower than I used to, I don’t want to slow down physically, I don’t want any of these things to be happening.

 

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 “As long as I resist this transition of my aging, I will begin to fear and love myself less.” 

This quote is taken from This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism by Ashton Applewhite.

This Chair Rocks Ashton Applewhite

We are in such a youth-obsessed culture.  The act of aging and all its negative propaganda has been drilled into us since we were little girls.  No wonder we resist the “transition” of aging.  We come to despise every wrinkle, ache, graying hair and the letting go of things we’ve loved.  

We are so busy working on staying young, we stay blind to our aging self.  When it shows up, we are shocked, dismayed and often fearful of what’s to come.”

What if this transition, this season of aging, was an opening up for something brand new, an unfolding of fun and laughter and challenges that would bring my heart and body joy?  What could it be? 

Here’s a fantasy of mine:  That I meet someone who has llamas, who has a sense of adventure, loves the outdoors, knows how to use a GPS device to explore different territories, and would love to have a hiking companion who loves these same things.

Wouldn’t that be grand?

And what if, as my neighbor Tom suggested, I sit quiet and ask “What’s next?”

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.”  Lao Tzu

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Have you "transitioned" into a season of aging that feels finite?  Was it easy or hard?  Why?