Friday, October 1, 2021

Reflections on 70 years

And just like that, I find myself waking up this morning at the ripe old age of 70. Yes, that is correct. Today I begin my 71st revolution of the sun. As soon as the water finishes boiling, I will pour my customary cup of Scottish breakfast tea to go along with my slice of French apple pie for breakfast. (Have no fear, I will have a bowl of porridge for dessert to make my mother and my digestive system happy.)
I'm not quite sure that I have entirely resigned myself to the title "Elderly." Our church has co-opted the term "Mamas and Papas" and I find that I prefer that label. 

As I lay in bed waking up this morning, I took the opportunity to spend a few minutes in review, trying to figure out how I actually made it this far. 70 is a long haul from 15, the age at which I made the ill-mannered proclamation that old people were gross, and stated my intention to kill myself at the age of 45. Came 45, which is obviously not nearly old enough, when I had a change of plan.

This morning however, I was somewhat inclined to doubt the wisdom of that decision. In my current decrepit state, I find myself wondering who exactly I have to thank for the myriad evidences that this earthly vessel has seen better years. I am now in possession of several family treasures: the cherry angiomas from the Rogers clan, the accumulated allergies from the Coots clan, seborrheic keratosis from gosh only knows how many, and that's just on the outside.

The words that come out of my mouth sound more these days like my mother or grandmother, and I still have to work every day on keeping the snark at a manageable level.

I was somewhat in hopes that I had finally reached the stage where I no longer give a F.R.A.* about quite so many things, such as having apple pie for breakfast and worrying what others might think of me when they find out. And truthfully, there are quite a number of things about which I no longer can find the time or energy to spend worrying. Politics, for one, and any number of other topics which seem to get others so riled up these days. On the other hand, there are many things that I do care about, probably more now than when I was 15 or even 45.
  • I care more now about taking the time to sip my breakfast tea, watching the turkeys parade across the lawn as the sun rises over the river than I do about being possibly 5 minutes late to the office.
  • I care more about spending half-an-hour with grandchildren than I do about the hour it takes to go see them. 
  • I care more about how my faith walk lines up with the instruction manual than with denominational dogma or how others think I should live. 
  • I care more now about finding out how people do life, love and the pursuit of happiness or what makes them act the way they do than I do about criticizing them for being different from me. 
  • I care more about keeping my thoughts to myself than about spewing my sarcastic witticisms on hurting or wounded people.
I am not a better person than anyone else, except possibly my 15-year-old self. Or at least that's what I hope. That is probably why I struggle frequently in my interactions with those who have known me since I was 15 or 45, and their expectations that I am still that same person.

If 70 years on this planet has taught me anything at all, I hope it has taught me how to be more respectful and accommodating towards the others who share my space.

*Flying Rat's Arse, in case you are still scratching your head