This morning I was able to leave Mama with her day caregiver in time to barely make it to yoga class. I have been wanting to take that class since before Christmas.
It is quite a switch and quite humbling to be the ‘student’ in the room, especially the old student. Luckily, the class was small, only five of us. Nicole, the 35ish year old instructor was kind and patient. The other four in the class were about her age and yoga regulars. She knew them by name and encouraged them to do the advanced moves while she politely said to me: “Rebecca, just do this at your level. We are looking for slight discomfort but not pain.” I used to tell my clients that exact line. It is Personal Training 101.
Every woman in that room could have been my daughter. It so sucks to be the old one that requires modification. There are days I am still mystified as to how this came to be.
I know everyone says this, but it feels like it was maybe five years ago that I was 40 and vibrant and couldn’t, in my very wildest of dreams, fathom being 60. Occasionally I wonder about some cosmic accident or weird time machine incident that got me to where I am, without my knowledge.
But, in true Hendrixson-speak “It is what it is.” Apparently I have to accept my alleged age and continue the journey of making peace with it. Plus, one day of grieving my age means one less day of being my age. It means losing time.
Henry David Thoreau said: “As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.” We “kill” time when we waste time but we also kill time when we lament about the stage (and age) of which we are. I do not want to kill time. I definitely do not want to injure eternity.
Thoreau also said: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Geez Henry, lighten up. But he was right. Many men, and women, lead lives of resignation to their looks, jobs, homes, families, and to their past, present and future. I also do not want to live in quiet desperation or resignation of being 60 years old.
I have days of wishing I were 40. When I am 80, I will wish for 60. At the rate it feels life is going, 80 could be next summer. I want to get busy enjoying 60 and not “kill” one more day by wishing otherwise.