Getting Old Isn't for Wimps

Getting old isn’t for wimps. A neighbor of ours in South Dakota said that to my mom way back when he was probably in his 60s. I never really thought about it until I started getting old; now I think about what he said nearly every time my bones creak and my muscles shriek.

As much as I agree with him, I do, however, think there are some advantages to aging. Now whether or not they hold up with time remains to be seen, but right now I have some good things to say about aging.

The first and foremost advantage is: I no longer give a rat’s butt about what people think of me anymore. When I was younger I used to worry about how I looked, how I sounded, how I did this, how I did that. What would my coworkers think, what would my friends think? Was my hair neat? Was snot hanging out of my nose?

Well, now I don’t care. Now, I do good if I comb my hair in the morning after I get up. People are lucky I still use deodorant – the only reason I put it on is not to impress anyone, but to keep me from keeling over at the stink of my own pits. I brush my teeth merely to keep them functioning in my mouth for as long as I can so I can eat what I want, not because there would be a high casualty rate around me if I neglected to sweeten my breath every morning. See what I mean about not giving a rat’s butt.

Another advantage is things have to get really bad for me to get upset. I used to be a worrywart, a list maker, and worst of all I nagged people to be the same. Now I just nag my sister. The other day I found lists (not just one list, but many) of stock values I wrote out by hand years ago so I could see how the stock market was doing. For Pete’s sake, what was I thinking! I also used to make a list and sometimes more than one of things I had to do. Don’t get me wrong. There are places and times for lists. When I was a college student majoring in music, I was so busy I was in distress mode. I confided in one of my instructors about my nerve racking schedule, and he suggested I write down a list of the things I needed to do. I began doing that and voila! I stopped worrying so much. Just having a list and being able to cross off the finished items gave me a sense of accomplishment as well as respite from the worry bug.

But now, no lists – except, of course, grocery lists. I don’t even give my husband a honey-do list. If something nags on my mind long enough, I may or may not get it done. But, unless it involves the choice between life or death, having a home or homelessness, I don’t give a rat’s butt.