Letting Go

Nov 25 What would you like to let go of?

I think I'm pretty good at letting go. I have pogo-stick cheerfulness and a very short memory. These are the traits of a happy woman; they keep me facing forward and winking at disaster. 

But lately I've been carrying something that I need to unload: my age. 

Until just recently, I've loved each of my ages. I didn't even blink when I turned thirty. I laughed straight through forty.

At forty-five I was diagnosed with breast cancer, which made me nothing but grateful for the next half-dozen years.

Then suddenly I was fifty-five. My house emptied out, my babies turned twenty, my school offered me early retirement, and the skin on the back of my hands got all loose and oh, so soft--grandma skin. My waist thickened. I couldn't jump up on the tailgate of the pickup without unpleasant grunting.

I don't want to resent my age. I want to continue embracing each year, learning, leaning forward. But to do that, I must let go of my dismay with aging. I'm lucky to be surrounded by teen-age students, from whom I learn the latest slang and the new technology. Furthermore, I get to dress up like a super hero during Homecoming week and like the Grinch during Winter Spirit Week. How could anyone really grow old under such circumstances?