What Would You Tell Yourself?

1

A friend recently asked me, if I could time travel and meet my younger self, what age would I pick, and what would I tell myself?

I have been pondering that very question for the past couple of weeks, as it happens. I had already picked a specific age and situation, and spent every walking hour thinking about what I could say to myself that I would listen to. After a lot of miles, I finally concluded that there would be nothing I could say about anything that would convince me of taking any different course at any time. The weight of experience cannot be communicated, afterall.

But then I turned my mind to something slightly different--and (to me) far more diverting. As I review my life and different decision points, the advice I would give myself (if I had one sentence maximum to use) would look something like this:

1.      Stop that.

2.      Get your head out of your ass.

3.      You're gonna want to think about that.

4.      Don't worry, that's perfectly normal.

5.      Ask questions.

6.      No. Ugh, no!

7.      Actually, DO call it a night after all.

8.      Don't bother with Edith Wharton or Henry James.

9.      Fight back.

10.   Go ahead, dance to one more song, sing one more Christmas Carol, and order one more dessert. A la mode!

Aging

My father has always been generous with information on aging. I don't mean this sarcastically--I mean it honestly. From my dad, I learned that you should sleep in when you're young, because you can't when you age. "If it's not your kids waking you up, it's your body--it just loses the ability to be at rest for long periods of time. You get tingling, or your back starts hurting, or some other darn thing."

I also learned that movies take a back seat. "I just don't feel like I have the time to devote two whole hours to a movie," he told me.

My dad is also always on the move--I call him "the man in motion"--a reference to the (American) football player who runs around, when everyone else is set up and ready, poised, before a play is triggered. "Here comes the play," the announcers say, "and there's a man in motion."

At home, my family often sits and visits (that's what we call "chats")--we visit while we're eating, we visit while we're playing marathon games of canasta, we visit while we're watching a sporting event, we visit while we watch the kids playing in the back yard. My dad, though, he's in motion--always moving, always moving. Putting the finishing touches on the food, cooking the food, presenting the food, asking everyone, "man, isn't that GOOD?" Cleaning up, grabbing the dust buster to swoop up a couple crumbs. Even, on a few notable occasions, hauling out the vacuum cleaner MID-FAMILY PARTY.

I am like my dad that way. I like it. I get a lot done in a day.

But I'm aging. I started noticing that my ability to sleep for long periods was ebbing. I'm a recreational runner, and usually train up for a half-marathon or two and a couple of 10-milers every year. Used to be, I could go on a long training run and then just move on through my busy day. Walking everywhere, naturally. Then, a few years ago, I started noticing that I had to stop mid-day. Not to take a nap, but to rest my bones. They were just plain tired.

I'm feeling my body's fatigue. It makes me frustrated. And a little bit sad.

Update: a colleague at work passed on something Jane Fonda said recently--I'm putting quotes around this, but I'm paraphrasing: "It's a privilege to get wrinkles, gray hair, and to age. I've lost so many friends who didn't have the opportunity, while I get to age."

Turn that frown upside down!