Old is a very subjective word. When I was 10, anyone in high school was old. When I was in high school, anyone over 20 was old. Back then, old was something we looked forward to, that we strived to be. Old enough to drive, old enough to vote, old enough to drink. Somewhere along the line I’ve noticed that the theme has gone from old enough to too old. Old, all of a sudden, has become an excuse. An excuse to not dance, an excuse to not run, an excuse to not sing, not skip, not jump, not this, not that. No wonder ‘getting old’ is thought of as something to be avoided.
But seriously, we are all getting old-er. Is getting older at the age of 60 any different than getting older at the age of 6? I’m not in extraordinarily good shape. But I try to use my body in the manner in which it was meant to be used. I lift things, I walk wherever I can walk, I run for exercise, I rest when I’m tired, I do the things I need to do. Not for any heroic reasons, but because I have to. Being old doesn’t cut it with the horses or Dolly Llama or the cow or the dogs. I can’t holler out to the animals to get their own darn food because I’m too old.
I do know that I am lucky to have made to nearly the half-point of my life relatively unscathed. And yes, I totally plan on living at least until I am 98. And that is a young estimate. I will accept the normal, real aging of my body – but I sure hope that karma bites me on the foot if I ever, ever needlessly use old as an excuse not to do something simply because I don’t feel like doing it.