Getting older doesn’t suck.
Seriously, you younger people, it’s not bad. Getting older is kind of awesome.
I mean, getting older isn’t effortless or anything, but still, it’s a good space to dwell in.
After five decades, I’ve finally come to the conclusion I can be exactly who I am. Just me. I can be me. I might be weird or broken or scared, but that is okay. I can still be exactly who I am.
I wish so bad I could tell ten year old me this, but I can’t. She just has to wait. I feel bad for her because she always has to wait. She never gets to know that one day we will be okay.
But I digress.
Getting older doesn’t suck as long as you make concessions for the inevitable changes.
Our weekend has been mellow and slow and wrapped around us like a cocoon. Randy has been smoking ribs and chicken and has music playing on his phone in his pocket. By the time it gets to my ears, it’s tinny and a bit annoying, but it makes him happy.
I walked into the kitchen just in time to hear The Israelites by Desmond Dekker and started to do the twist to the music. Then my knees went: POP POP.
Me: I am at the age where I bring my own percussion.
Randy: Are you okay?
Me: I got the beat. I am a one man band and I am the instrument.
Me: I’m fine. That was just loud. It didn’t hurt.
Me: My ankle hurts and I don’t know why. And my back. My hips are just fucking killing me. I think I have arthritis.
Randy: You sound like an old lady.
Randy: I think there is someone on our yard.
Randy: You might want to stop shaking your head that hard. You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow. Because you are an old lady.
Randy: I’ve never heard your neck make that noise.
Sooner or later, all dances must end.
Randy and I sat at our kitchen table together working on a story idea. I told Randy I thought the idea lends itself to collaboration or a round up would work.
Randy: That’s a great idea! You could come at it from the senior citizen angle.
Randy: It was kind of funny.
Randy: Well, it was.
You know how we improve with practice? How we do a task over and over until it is fluid and we start to become experts? Okay, perhaps not experts, but still, we can get pretty good at something.
Randy is a goddamn expert at not being funny. I used to feel bad for him because he’s not as funny as he thinks he is and he makes the lamest fucking jokes on the planet. But then I decided he isn’t improving his comedy skills, he’s honing his “not being funny at all” skills.
He’s actually often very funny, but don’t tell him I said that because he’ll just be unbearable.
It’s kind of funny, this aging thing. Every year I go into, I learn something new. I learn my hips hurt most of the time and I learn I’m so much better than I ever believed of myself. It’s a fair trade.
I know Randy will always make lame ass jokes and which gives me a sense of security. There is a satisfaction in knowing I will always get my recommended daily number of eye rolls in.
I also know when we sell this house and buy a new one, we are not considering a two story house. We’re not getting any younger. Stairs are more daunting than they used to me. It’s odd to take these things into consideration.
I might as well love aging because as far as I know there is no music in the alternative.
I will continue to keep time with my knee pops for as long as I can.
Photo courtesy of Michael Gaida.