I started this blog because I wanted to write about the phase of my life that I called “middle age,” even if I was a bit old for that title. At the time, I was feeling a little bit lost and unsure of myself in the face of changes that sometimes seemed overwhelming. I was a stay-at-home mom whose kids had grown up and moved out, and a free-lance writer who hadn’t sold anything in years. My mother had reached the age where our roles were beginning to reverse. Trying to keep up with the latest in technology left me feeling both confused and inadequate. Worst of all were the changes that aging had wrought on my body, which essentially meant that everything that could possibly go south had done so, and I couldn’t read a thing without my reading glasses.
One way or another, I felt that my old identity had been stripped away and I hadn’t yet found my new one. I thought that blogging about it might help, because writing has always helped me sort out just exactly what I am thinking and feeling. And I was right…..it did help. Just not quite in the way I had thought.
It’s been over three years since I launched Muddling Through My Middle Age, and I still haven’t found that new identity. But after spending so much time writing about the struggle to figure out just who I have become, I finally realized that it is that it’s perfectly okay not to know exactly who I am, or to claim a particular role and self-image and try to make it last for the rest of my life. Because life is constantly changing, and the only way I can ever hope to cope with that is by being willing to change right along with it.
Of course some things about me will always stay the same. My basic personality, my morals and my values, my deepest loves and my most annoying quirks are with me for life. But so many other things have changed. Just in recent years, I’ve become a blogger, a mother-in-law and a grandmother. I am, slowly but surely, gaining confidence in my ability to master technology. I have embraced new ideas and conquered some old fears. I have become more “comfortable in my own skin” than I have ever been, even if that skin is awfully wrinkled and saggy these days.
The truth is, there is no such thing as just one new identity for me to discover and embrace for the rest of my life. There’s just me….continually changing, growing and adapting to whatever life happens to bring. And that’s a good thing.
We were sure that last year would be our dog Lucy’s very last Christmas. She was fifteen years old, and had survived a couple of serious health issues. Signs of her aging were obvious: stiffness in her joints, hearing loss, and worst of all, a digestive system that obviously could no longer handle the variety of “food” she still found and insisted on eating. Lucy had been part of our family for over fourteen years, so our Christmas morning was a little bittersweet as all photographed and video-taped what we thought would be the last time she would ever help us open presents.
I’ve never been very good at saying goodbye, especially to someone I really like. So when I heard that one of my very favorite staff members at the animal shelter where I volunteer was planning to retire this month, I didn’t react well.
Fall has come a bit late to my corner of the world this year, but it has finally arrived. And that means I’m spending time trimming back some bushes, storing away the pots that I use for my annual flowers, and washing my windows one last time before the temperatures plummet. Inside, I’m doing some hard-core house cleaning in preparation for the Christmas decorations I know I’ll be putting up next month.
My daughter is expecting our first grandchild in early January, and with each passing week, what was once only an abstract joy has become that much more real. Seeing her opening gifts at her baby showers, surrounded by family and friends who have turned out to offer their love and support is both comforting and humbling. I still have no idea just exactly what being a grandparent will mean, but I’m anxious to find out.
There’s so much more I could say on this subject, but I don’t have the time. My 87-year old mother is having problems opening her emails, and I have to go over to her house and figure out just what she is doing wrong…..
This morning I was down at the animal shelter where I volunteer, getting ready to take a dog on its walk, when another volunteer turned to me and said, “That dog is kind of hard to get leashed up. Do you want me to help you?” I didn’t say it out loud, but my first reaction was, “Seriously? You want to help me?”
Still, there is nothing I can do but accept the changes that are happening in, and to, my body. I may still be young in spirit….and hope that I always will be….but I am no longer quite so young in body, and that means that I have to remember to cut myself some slack. I need to pay attention to my physical limits these days, and be willing to ask for help when I need it. I also need to be strong enough to graciously accept help when it’s offered, even those times when I didn’t ask for it. Because the time is coming, slowly but inevitably, when the only shelter dogs I’ll be walking are the chihuahuas.
All I wanted to do was take a picture of a sunset. I was at the beach with my family, watching the sun sink down into the ocean in a dazzling display of orange and yellow when I reached for my cell phone to snap a quick picture. I clicked on the camera icon, focused the shot and pressed the button to take the picture. But all I got was an obnoxious message saying that the phone couldn’t take the picture because I had used up all my storage available for photos. Which meant that instead of enjoying nature’s glorious display, I became focused on trying to figure out what the heck was going on with my cell phone.