I like being old so I can tell my grandson about ‘Sky King’ and how I would have given anything to be Penny. The challenge is telling him without distracting him from his iPad and risking him losing his Temple Run game.
I like being old because the veins on my hands remind me of the veins on leaves, and I think there’s something beautiful in that. I really don’t mind veins, wrinkles, age spots, sags, bags…I think they’re all par for the course. Look at an old tree; did you ever hear anyone throwing insults at it?
I like being old because I feel closer to God. Whatever He (or She) is, and wherever He/She is, I know that my time to meet Him or Her is drawing closer. And that must be comforting, because I hear that God is good. And I figure that since you don’t meet God when you’re alive, it must happen someday, so it’s probably at or after death; no?
I like being old because I’m comforted by simple things: a blanket, a hot cup of coffee, the sound of my sister’s voice, a hug from almost anyone.
I like being old because I know that when I get sad, things will change and the sun will come out again. If it doesn’t, I turn to Breyer’s—and, depending on how sad, it could be just plain vanilla, or chocolate with whipped cream on top. Add chocolate sauce for deep, dark depression.
I like being old because I see life from a new perspective. It’s now or never for me, so for fear of it being never, I do as little as I can!
I like being old because when I was young I always thought time went so slowly and I’d get bored easily; now the time goes by so quickly that I bore everyone around me talking about how quickly time goes by.
I like being old because there are million things to laugh about that I never before thought were funny. The only challenge with this is having to make sure you laugh when you’re very close-by to an unoccupied restroom!
I like being old because I feel like everyone’s grandma, which is really nice because it’s easier to love everyone and forgive them for all their naughtiness.
I like being old because just being alive feels like an accomplishment.
April 15, 2014 at 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….”
April 15, 2014 at 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.