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Why I Like Being Old

Tuesday, April 15th, 2014   12:14 pm |  Category:   Humor   |   2 Comments  
Author:     posts:  1    Author's   bio

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I like being old because I have the wisdom to be more forgiving of myself for all the mistakes I made in the past. I can also more easily forgive myself for the mistakes I continue to make on a daily basis. I am more aware now than ever before that as the imperfect human I am, I am entitled to screw up.

 

I like being old because no men whistle at me anymore. I never have to worry anymore about attracting the wrong men by the clothing I wear or by how glamorous I look, because when you’re older, you become strangely invisible. And that’s okay by me—it’s liberating.

 

I like being old because people think you know more than they do. And if you don’t talk too much and just focus really hard on looking smart, you can earn quite a bit of respect from the young’uns.

 

I like being old because I know in my heart that life goes on with or without technology, so I don’t fret when I lose my cell phone about twice a week, or can’t figure out something on my computer about twice a day.

 

I like being old because I can find beauty in little things, like a cardinal sitting on a branch of the Redbud tree outside my window or the feel of my grandson’s hands in mine. In fact, I can use either of those images to soothe myself to sleep at night… hold the sleep aids!

 

I like being old because certain sounds fill me like they never did before: those include laughter, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, the sound of silence.

 

I like being old because money is not my primary concern anymore. I learned to tolerate it rather than to either love it (having more than enough) or loathe it (when there’s a shortage). I suppose what I mean is that I realize now that enough is truly enough: money doesn’t buy happiness—living does.

 

I like being old because I feel like I don’t have to take any shit from anyone. If I don’t like what someone has to say, I can pretend to be hard of hearing or invisible or both. Or I can choose to be outspoken and tell them where to go—and then pretend to be hard of hearing and invisible—and run, fast!

 

I like being old because I don’t have to deal with sex as much or as often. I don’t have to worry about acting sexy, wanting sex or engaging in sex because at my age, cheesecake is much more important. That…and chocolate.

 

I like being old because I know that it’s only a couple of more years before I can retire. I will no longer have to sit in an office, deal with other people’s problems, or bow down to anyone in order to earn recognition and appreciation. I can just be me and hopefully pat myself on the back now and then.

 

I like being old because I can more easily recognize when people are genuine and when they’re not. I chose to steer clear of phonies, which is why I spend a lot of time alone.

 

I like being old because I can watch T.V. without understanding what’s going on. You learn to appreciate just begin able to see and hear the actors: isn’t that sufficient?

 

I like being old so I can sit around with old friends once in a while and reminisce about when remote controls didn’t exist.

 

 

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2 Comments
  1. Ame Rica Apr 15th 2014  1:42 pm

    Kathryn, Very lovely post with one exception:

    Try telling the following to a homeless woman suffering the cold winters on the street because she feels safer there than in a shelter. There is little “living” going on in her life.

    “….I like being old because money is not my primary concern anymore. I learned to tolerate it rather than to either love it (having more than enough) or loathe it (when there’s a shortage). I suppose what I mean is that I realize now that enough is truly enough: money doesn’t buy happiness—living does….”

  2. K.T. Apr 15th 2014  2:07 pm

    Thanks for your comment. I understand that money can buy security, comfort and well-being, and I am empathetic to anyone who suffers financial stress. I was speaking only from my personal experience, having had too much and then not enough–but, still, I have never been, nor would I ever pretend to know how difficult it must be to be homeless.


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