Ever feel like you are going to hell in a hand basket? Anyone remember that saying? How about peachy keen? How about I’m old and only remember phrases from 40 years ago? Sigh.  Ah well.  It is true.  I am aging.  And I’m grateful.  And I am proud.  Proud of my wrinkles.  They are earned.  They are testaments of battles fought, dragons slayed, hurdles overcome. They are proof of worried frowns, but also of laughter and smiles.   They are testaments to living. Yes, indeed.

While the aging process can bring its fair share of challenges, for the most part, I am grateful to be given the opportunity to tackle them.  Do I have to be more creative if I want that extra donut (insert extreme pouting)?  Yes.  So perhaps I then trade off dessert that night for the extra circle of sugary happiness at breakfast.  It can be done.

Growing older doesn’t have to be all downhill.  In fact, it’s a great time to do everything you can to go up hill.  Get out.  Get moving. Go to the museum, or for a tour at a local brewery (free samples, or so I’m told…wink wink).  It’s never too late to expand the mind, or to broaden your horizons. Take a bread baking class, or grab your significant other and cha cha cha your way through ballroom dance class.  There is no age limit.  Not for any of that stuff, and for ever so much more.  The only limits are the ones you put there.

A blog post or two ago, I wrote about wanting to “breathe”.  This applies here too.  I don’t want to fear aging.  I want to embrace it. I want to live it.  And while it will not always be peachy keen, I hope and pray that I can face the process with as much power and wonder that I can muster.  Care to join me?

Until next time.

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