Don't Let the Old Man In

My body isn’t exactly raring to go when getting out of bed these days. There’s an awareness of the physical body being past its prime. The person that stares back at me in the mirror seems much older than the mental image in my head.

Looking at the struggles my parents face daily, I’m aware of what’s coming. I did a lot of thinking when I was moving them to a retirement home a few weeks ago. The helplessness gnaws at me. It scares me.

On the tennis court, my eyes catch the ball later than they used to. My reflexes are surely slower. The body in general seems to disagree with the mind about my age. The plantar fasciitis in my foot hobbles me between points.

But then — I run down that ball and curl a forehand down the line, a passing shot against an opponent who has decades on me. In that moment, I don’t feel old. The fear dissipates. It’s replaced with gratitude that I still can, and hope that I can for a good while longer.

I’m taking nothing for granted. I’m not going to worry about the things I can’t control. I’m going to enjoy the small wins, savor the finer things in life.

I’m going to embrace getting older and wiser.