Still becoming
It couldn’t have been more perfect timing, David Bowie’s message to me. I am sitting on my porch awaiting the few minutes before I have to leave for a doctor’s appointment. The blood pressure cuff around my arm is there because I am determined to prove that my pressure only skyrockets when I am in the doctor’s office. I will beat that nurse at her game by taking it before I sit in her chair. And while I sit there, willing myself to relax I turn to the NYT mini crossword. Seven across: an extraordinary process whereby you become the person you always should have been: David Bowie. I don’t get it at first. I think of how creative and edgy he was but the words that come to mind don’t fit into the squares on the puzzle. And then, as it often goes in crosswords, the letters fall into place and the word comes into view: aging. And my eyes fill with tears.
Aging. A word big enough to be both an adjective and a noun. Lately I have allowed it to loom large in my thoughts as if it is the big bad wolf in my life story. I simply can’t believe I am here - on the cusp of using the word “old” instead of the word “middle.” I rage against it, try to problem- solve it, attempt to cover it up, long to turn my back on it, but it is here.Every day a little closer. I am becoming old.
Some recent minor health concerns bring it to the forefront. I can no longer pretend that my body will not start seeing the effects of molecular and cellular damage. I must learn to live with this knowledge, rise above it, even perhaps be grateful for it, although, quite honestly, that often seems like a stretch.
Being a believer of some-kind-of-afterlife-but-not-sure-exactly-what, I am not nearly as scared of death itself as I am of the road to it. I see the generation before me walking that road and their twists and turns fill me with fear. I am not strong enough to endure pain, to face sickness, to lose myself in the process. Yet, I long to linger as long as possible. There is too much goodness in my life to ever want to leave it too suddenly or too soon.
The message in the mini at a time I need it most: stop focusing on the wolf at the door. You aren’t being chased, you are pursuing. You are still becoming in this extraordinary gift of an existence. And there is So. Much. Extraordinary. Watching my children grow into the adults they are meant to be. Adding children to my fold through their marriages. Enjoying the wonder and innocence of three small grandchildren while I am awaiting the miracle of a fourth. The time to study the things I love: Art, Music, the Written Word. The beauty and grandeur of travel. The solace and comfort of home. The joy and laughter with friends. Aging has brought all of these into my life. What more awaits with each passing year?
Yes Mr. Bowie, it can be an extraordinary ride, this second half. I hope the universe keeps nudging me towards gratitude and growth on the days when I tend to wear my anxiety about aging like a worn and heavy cloak. There are no guarantees about the condition or even the length of the road ahead: no map, no atlas, no GPS. Only the promise for the taking that as long as I travel it, I can be on the path to becoming.