Oh god… it happened to me.
Oh god… it happened to me. One morning I looked in the mirror, and the face staring back didn’t quite feel like mine anymore. The jawline I knew seemed softer, lines had taken up permanent residency around my eyes, and I literally paused—like, really paused—wondering if this was what aging looked like up close.
When Your Body Turns on You (Just a Little)
You think it’s just a metaphor when people talk about “your body not cooperating,” but suddenly, you can’t run up the stairs without feeling like you’ve just sprinted a marathon. Your back twinges in sympathy when you pick up a bag of groceries. And standing for too long at a concert makes you think about bringing the folding chair.
But with each ache, I started appreciating the small details: the slow approach to sunlight through the living room curtains, the way a hot cup of coffee warms your insides like a hug. Aging isn’t just loss—it’s rediscovery of moments you once raced past.
Fewer Days with Energy, More with Perspective
There was a time I could easily clock 18-hour days chasing meetings, deadlines, side projects—and survive purely on adrenaline. Now? I pay attention. I notice when the caffeine high wears off before lunch, when the afternoons stretch long. I’ve realized it’s okay not to pack your schedule full. In fact, that empty spot between 2 and 4 PM feels like permission to just be—to think, to reflect, to breathe.
Still, society doesn’t always honor that gentleness. In America, staying “productive” can sometimes feel like the only way to earn your place. I wonder: why do we equate worth with output?
Loneliness in an “Ageing Nation”
They say America is aging fast—by 2030, one in five Americans will be over 65, a shift that will reshape everything from workforce to social norms. But in that aging reality, loneliness looms large. Families spread across cities. Community bonds fray.
I think of my grandmother—how, in her later years, something in her voice made her feel smaller, like she wasn’t fully there, even though she existed so completely in my memory. Aging sometimes doesn’t just gray your hair; it can make you feel invisible. In that way, the quiet of the house starts to echo.
But Wait—There’s Resistance and Resilience
Still, this isn’t a resignation letter. It’s a call for embracing the unexpected gifts aging brings. Like wisdom. A knowing shake of your head that says, “I’ve seen some things, baby,” without needing to tell the story (but I probably will)
There’s also a kind of peace in fewer expectations and more “just this moment.” The exhilaration of feeling your heart settle into something calmer, more grounded. The knowing that you don’t need to prove much anymore—and that’s deeply liberating.
So, What Do We Do Now?
I’m not quite ready for knitting clubs or early bird specials… but I am ready to do things differently:
Honor the pause—take a break without guilt, lean into rest.
Reach out—call that older neighbor, neighbor across the hall, someone whose voice you haven’t heard in too long.
Redefine productivity—it’s not output. It's meaning. Connection. Presence.
Cherish the unexpected—even a bird landing on your window, a quiet sunrise, a half-finished novel—they’re part of this phase too.
Oh god… it happened to me. But you know what? Maybe that’s exactly where I need to be. Present with all the weariness—and with all the wonder the years have added.
