5 Gifts of Aging
"We're all just walking each other home." -- Ram Dass
In many ways, I'm still just dipping a toe in what it means to be "in my 60s"; eschewing stereotypes in order to step more boldly into the true power of Elderhood. When I take stock, so far, there are way more things to love about being older than not. Sure my skin had fewer wrinkles, sex was better (or at least easier). But the negative voices, the constant feeling of not enough, the exhausting drive to prove myself, lest someone see that I was flawed and therefore not enough -- those are just some of the things that are (mostly) in the rear view mirror now. Here are some of the gifts of entering my 60s:
I care less than ever about what people think of me; I show up authentically.
I'm way less afraid to make a fool of myself; I'm more playful.
I believe there is no failure; only learning.
I ask for help -- eventually.
I belong.
This belonging piece is big. When my partner moved into my condo two years ago, I felt I'd both finally gotten what I'd yearned for and there was also a sense of loss. After searching and searching for partnership, dreaming that the right man was out there for me, he'd arrived. But also in that time, I'd fallen into deep compassion and happiness with myself. I loved my own company -- cooking for myself, sitting in front of the fireplace, reading and writing. Now someone was moving into my sanctuary. Granted, it wasn't just anyone. He was well-vetted.
My aloneness. There are times when I miss that solitude. When I look back at those journals and journals of searching for love, for companionship, for romance, partnership. How I dreamed the man for me was out there; how I pictured our souls convening, preparing us to meet, drawing us closer and closer, until he messaged me to ask me on a date, as if he'd been right there the whole time. When I think of all that, I choose partnership over being alone, again and again. Not at any cost, however. Never again, will I abandon myself for the sake of belonging. There is no worse betrayal than that.
But freedom is not an all or nothing proposition. For me, true freedom is about the balancing. That's a verb, not a noun. It changes daily. It's about making it all belong: the need for alone time and the need for companionship, and whatever shows up day to day. My partner still reminds me that he can reach the things of the high shelves. I don't need to slide stools over and climb the countertops. Though I do like to feel my resourcefulness and agility -- doing things by myself is my default. It comes from times of not being able to count on others. For many years, I believed that I could not trust others, that I could only count on myself. But did I trust myself? For a long time, I told myself I did not trust that a man could be a good life partner. Eventually, I realized that the mistrust was of myself. I did not trust my ability to pick a good partner -- someone who would not just reach things off of high shelves, but sit with the discomfort of old shame and new hopes, and together find a higher ground for our relationship.
It's easy to think you're strong when your'e a lone wolf; connection calls for the greatest courage. After all these years on the planet, often feeling alone in the midst of others, I may finally be learning what it means to be a part of "the family of things," as Mary Oliver once wrote. For a long time I believed, that if I never truly felt a part of things, I would not be as badly hurt if I was abandoned. But all the while I yearned to belong. And in belonging the biggest fear is banishment. But as I enter this new garden of elderhood, I know that I am both within myself and a part of something bigger. The greatest challenge of this decade may be this: to claim my separateness and give wholeheartedly to living as part of the family of things. We are all, after all, just walking each other home.