I have nothing against “More” magazine – in fact, I read it and applaud its mission to publish a magazine specifically designed for women who have traded their concerns about thigh-gap for hot flashes. However, on the cover this month (in the largest font possible) is the phrase “Secrets To Aging Gracefully” and in smaller print “from real women like you”.
Let me tell you what the secrets are – exercise, eat healthy foods (eat vegan – or not), color your hair – or not, use injectables – or not, live in the country or in the city, moisturize and be happy in your skin.
Thank you very much “More” magazine. I had no idea.
There’s something ironic about using the adverb ‘gracefully’ when one has joints that crack, a back that is willing to debate the merits of good posture, and an ever-increasing awareness that you will never be carded again. “Ha”, I say. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
There is nothing graceful about aging. There is grace in aging. And there’s a rockin’ big difference between the two.
I spent a good part of yesterday at a local hospital receiving an I.V. infusion (for osteoporosis – I share this only because I don’t want you to think darker thoughts). This will be an annual trip; it’s nothing compared to some other unpleasant medical moments I’ve had and none of them come close to the challenges others face every single day. I may feel a little off today and I know that tomorrow will be far better. This doesn’t even qualify as a roll in the barrel -it’s a jostle.
The infusion center is where people go to receive their chemo treatments. On either side of me and all around me were patients watching hope as it slowly dripped into their ports.
To my left was a 67-year-old man who cheerfully told me about the hardy qualities of the liver, much of his having been removed a year ago; the 70-something woman on my right was laughing at the nurses who had to come and adjust her Taxol drip every two minutes. These two knew each other so they just pulled me into their conversation. They talked about their children, books, the cupcake shop in Georgetown. Significant others and good movies. Oncologists and naps when it rains. Joking with the nurses and occasionally closing their eyes as the minutes dragged. Just as I thought we were going to take a break, one of them piped up with a thought. I kissed them both when I left. The nurse and I hugged. Don’t know why – it was right though.
This post isn’t about cancer. It’s about moving forward in and with life, holding delight and intent in one hand and awareness in the other. It’s about fighting for your life like a street brawler while handling it as a newborn child. There’s nothing graceful about it – it’s scary and messy and fraught and unfair and arbitrary and clumsy. It’s also magnificent and wise and proud and freeing and luscious. Aging with grace? It’s those moments in between the extremes when you smile and weep and whisper ‘thank you so, so much’.