Last month, a friend of mine asked me, “What are you giving up for Lent?” And although I’m not Catholic, I liked the idea of giving up something that doesn’t fit with who I want to be, so I had a ready answer for her.
“You have to meet Miss Fiona!” my friend gushed, knowing my passion for celebrating dynamic, thriving seniors. “She’s truly amazing!”
Ever have a case of the “I don’t wannas”?
Mine usually hit when it’s a grey and gloomy morning. The last thing I want to do is my series of morning exercises and stretches when it’s drab and dreary. Just the thought of strapping on my ankle and wrist weights is enough to send me burrowing back down into those nice comfy covers.
Ah, the month of love!
As February rolls around, Valentine’s Day is in the air – literally. You couldn’t miss the coming of Valentine’s Day if you tried. Between the TV specials, stuffed bears and candy for sale everywhere you look, love-songs on the Internet and the ever-present jewelry commercials, the month of love is categorically upon us.
It’s hard to tell with rescue pups, but my vet figured that my beloved Ringo was about 2 years old when he came into my life. This makes him now about 12.
According to psychologists, we go through various stages of life from birth to death. Rich or poor, whatever our ethnicities, religions or culture, we share this passage through distinct phases of life. And the years after 60 or so are considered the years of giving back.
If you ask me how old I feel, I’ll tell you “40.”
Why? Because I didn’t start to feel my uniqueness, my strengths, my true self, until I hit my fourth decade. Now, I am almost at level 7.0 (that’s a story for another day). As I turn 69, I have a degree of gravitas, of self-confidence, of utter joy in being-ness that utterly eluded me in my 20s and 30s.
You’d think that with increasing age would come increasing misery. After all, isn’t that what TV ads and the like would have us believe?
Depression, anxiety, fear, insecurity and not to mention the worry of cognitive decline, debilitating physical changes. We are bombarded with these gloomy messages almost daily.
You know that awful moment when you’re standing in the middle of the living room, wondering, “Why am I here?” No, not the existential “Why am I here?” as in your reason for living, but the more ordinary “Why did I just walk into this room?”
You look around yourself at work. Every new hire is well under the age of 30 and the number of co-workers in their 50s and 60s seems to be rapidly vanishing. As you get into your 60s, you can’t help but wonder, “Am I next?”