Finely Aged?

What bothers you most about aging?

In my late twenties, I dreaded the thought of turning thirty. It seemed that fateful day would mark the end of my youth. I spent time plucking grey hairs out of my head and looking for wrinkles. By the time I approached forty, I laughed at that foolishness. My twenties had begun with the need to be a bit rebellious, but most of it was spent in pursuit of traditionally accepted goals. By the time my thirties ended, I had learned to accept and appreciate myself. I gave up worrying about age and pursued a life that reflected my interests and personality. When I received a bouquet of black balloons for my fortieth birthday, I just laughed. Life wasn’t over; it had just started getting interesting.

Ironically, the signs of aging began appearing after I had ceased looking for them. It wasn’t just grey hairs and wrinkles. In fact, I saw far less of those. As the print in books became increasingly smaller, I began to suspect that this was not coincidental. Little aches and pains now accompanied some of my favorite activities. Some of the fixes were easy. Get some reading glasses. Don’t camp out without an air mattress. Other things required lifestyle changes. I couldn’t hang out at jazz clubs until the wee hours and feel perky for work the next day. I became far more conscious of what I ate and how much I exercised. I wistfully remembered the energy and health of younger days. But, somehow, I never wanted to go back for a redo.

And the beat goes on. Subsequent decades have brought far greater changes in health and energy. Logically, it seems that I would long to return to my younger and healthier days. Reality finds me enjoying what’s left with no desire for an encore. Sure, I wouldn’t mind a magic wand that waved away my pains, but go back? No way!

How about you? Do you long for a trip to the fountain of youth? Is there anything from your youth that you’d like to recapture? I’d love to hear your comments.