Oh the age thing! I had a bit of a shock last year.
A woman we work with said she went to the doctor, got measured for height, and had shrunk an inch. So I measured myself that night. No mistake about it, down an inch from my six-foot-tall days. Now when did that happen? What a rude sign of mortality and aging! Isn’t getting shorter for people in their late 80s, not me, a strapping 63-year-old? And it’s an epidemic. At my 45th high school reunion party last week, I was eye-to-eye with guys who had been an inch or two taller, so I count myself lucky.
Here in my 64th year, lots of questions emerge. One is how do I want to spend this last third of my life? How do I paint on the canvass of work, play, family, self, and community in a way that is artful and whole and healing? How can I make my life a gift for myself and others? Another question is, lest you think I am maxed out on things spiritual and psychological, I wonder if there anything I can do about this shrinking thing? Yoga probably.
The early rock group, the Byrds, sang a line: “But I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” I am not six feet tall any longer, but I am younger in some good ways, I think. Being young at heart may be our best asset as elders.
Bring on the aging process! What is in a tape measure anyway? The alternative to shrinking is not so hot, and the shrinking happens gradually enough. It sort of sneaks up on you, or maybe it sneaks down. Off to Yoga.