“Maybe time running out is a gift.” ~Jason Isbell, If We Were Vampires
Most days, I feel like my 30-year-old self. Then I catch a glimpse in the mirror and remember I was born half a century ago. In many ways, I am so much better than I ever was, but my physical appearance constantly reminds me that my golden jubilee is swiftly approaching. My skin is freckled and spotted from many lovely days spent in the sun without sufficient sunscreen, leading to a fun bathroom game I play with my husband called Age Spot or Cancerous Mole? There is cellulite on my thighs and a pooch in my belly no amount of core work can eradicate. My vision is deteriorating and I have yet to find an eye cream that will erase the dark circles under my baby blues. My esthetician occasionally has to shave the odd hairs off of my face like an adolescent boy (though she kindly calls it dermaplaning).
But. I can still kick up into a handstand. I can still get off the toilet without throwing out my back. I have yet to find a gray strand in my curly locks.
And there have been real boons to getting older. I’m far more patient than I used to be, and am much more content to stay in my lane and allow other people to do the same without judgment. I know who I am. Sometimes I look back on my 30-year-old self and want to hug Past Erin and remind her to slow down and be grateful for all that is to come. I imagine my 70-year-old self looking back on Current Erin and saying the same thing. Future Erin is an even cooler and wiser human, though her joints probably hurt when it rains.
Fifty is just a number, right? Change is inevitable, an unassailable fact. Some of those changes will be great, and others might suck a little. So why does this looming birthday feel so … big?
The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m 50 and I haven’t done enough. I’m scared that I’m 50 and I don’t know what to do next. And I’m scared that before I can unravel these fears and grab onto a tangible thread of direction, my time is going to run out.
My mindfulness practice teaches me to wrap my arms around my fears, hug them to my chest and listen to their wise whispers. My brain, on the other hand, tells me to grab a bag of Cape Cod Jalapeño Kettle Chips (arguably the greatest potato chip ever created), binge watch The Crown until my eyes bleed, and ignore my fears for as long as I can.
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When we’re scared, we react in one of four ways. We avoid, argue, act, or accept.
Avoidance feels especially easy these days. There are so many ways to numb out. We can drink too much or scroll too much, sleep too much or move too little. We can overfill our bellies with junk food and our minds with Tik Tock videos. Then we can avoid looking at ourselves in the mirror and pretend we’re still 24. Avoidance means we don’t have to truly face our fears, but it means a shallow and unfulfilled life, too, because we can’t selectively numb. When we numb the bad feelings, we numb the good ones as well. Living life to the fullest means feeling life to the fullest.
Arguing is an even worse option. It conflates fear with anger, then directs that ire back at ourselves. We say horrible things about ourselves, things we would never say about our friends. We hate on our wrinkles or failing eyesight or aching back, flying first class on a guilt trip for the unforgivable sin of aging. As if there is any alternative. Arguing is an exhausting fight where no one wins.
Acting gives us some semblance of control, though it works best with a healthy dose of realism. Personally, I will never stop doing yoga or lifting weights or injecting small amounts of Botox into the lines between my eyebrows. I will drink plenty of water and get plenty of sleep and carve out time to meditate every day. But it would behoove me to do these things for Future Erin and not out of some misguided belief that I can turn back time.
Which leaves us with acceptance, which sounds like freedom but can be a tough pill to swallow. Acceptance asks us to treat whatever time we have left as a gift and not waste it on the trivial or vain. To let go of the negative self-talk to navigate the inevitable changes of life with more grace and ease. To accept and love ourselves unconditionally, even when our joints ache for no good reason, or we can’t remember why we came into the room.
