I’m 45 and I feel younger than I ever thought I would at mid-life. “Mid-life” works, right? After all, I’m not a fan of the term, “Middle Age”, at least not in reference to me.. (And when I say “younger”, I mean “without all the answers”). The wrinkles are appearing (they’re laugh lines, right?), greys get washed out periodically (shhhh….), and I (usually) don’t sweat the small stuff.
I just got off the phone with a friend who was going to the hospital to be with one of her friends, recently diagnosed with cancer. “I’m a little scared about going in”, she confessed. We talked about how the true gift is just showing up to be with the people we care about – through the good times and the shitty, scary times.
Hannah thanks me for the reminder to just show up and sit with her friend and she says, “Oh right, Aging is a Privilege, not a Right.” Those are the moments of grace where I am reminded to be grateful. For everything. For every wrinkle. For every Grey. For every query about whether or not I’m doing the right thing. Because this life is precious and we never know how long we will get.
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