At fifty-seven years of age, I am well aware that a lot more than half my life has been lived. I find myself bemused by this fact, as well as interested in the process of aging as a whole, because this “being a person of age” isn’t quite what I expected.
Somehow as I was walking (and often running) through my twenties, thirties and forties, I thought that I was on my way to arrive at some “place.” This place was the goal and there would be a “grown up” Robin there waiting to welcome me to maturity and “adulthood.” This place would be where all the answers rested and I would somehow know what the whole shebang was all about.
Well, surprise! I am glad to report that this has not happened. I am still on the way and there doesn’t seem to be a prescribed destination. There are just a series of adventures that I get to explore and, now that I have some years tucked under my belt, to contemplate. It is with interest and much curiosity that I can purvey the world around me and then decide whether I want to participate in it or not. Now, there’s a freedom!
Things that used to tweak me and quite often spark my disdain and grumbling are now not so difficult to handle. It seems that they can simply pass across the screen of my consciousness as rather “ho-hum” or “is this interesting or not?” stuff. I no longer feel the need to become engaged in the oh-so-many burning questions and situations of life.
As I move through my sixth decade, I realize that I have taken in, experienced and learned quite a bit. My somewhat slower brain, as well as my heart, mind and soul, are the repository of many experiences, good and bad, that have rather “seasoned” me. The many minutes, hours and days of life have given me a much larger and longer view of things. Kind of a “been there, done that” mindset that allows a slowing down and a rather thoughtful attitude about much that before would have made me itchy, bitchy and twitchy.
This “longer lived” perspective, allows me a certain peace, a stepping back from things. The only thing I can really change or do anything about is me and my life. Experience and “hard knocks” have driven this point home often and painfully over the years. What can I actually do about the national debt? Do I really want to bend my grey matter and energy towards concern over the latest fashion? Is there a reason for me to lose sleep over who the heck the next president will be?
With the widening of my life span, it seems there is a narrowing of my sense of immediacy and need to control; a sloughing off of the desire to be intimately involved in the “new and improved” and “oh my God this is important” stuff that yammers for my attention. There is a feeling of serenity; of letting things take care of themselves.
Ah, but another thought has now raised itself to my consciousness. Is this behavior the result of my becoming “centered” and realizing a sense of peace with the “who” of who I am? Or, is it that I have seen enough and been through enough, that I just simply no longer give a damn?