I’m not as smart as I was. It takes me more time to puzzle things out. I choose light reading more often.
My hair will never look as good as it did. It’s a rough, grey business that goes its own way.
I don’t foresee running 35 miles a week like I used to.
I’ve shrank. I still say I’m six feet tall, out of habit, convenience and a little bit of denial. If you were to measure me this minute, I’m only 5 foot 11 and a half.
I’m dumber, uglier, slower and shorter. Yet I’ve never been happier.
I see the small moments of my day. A crazy squirrel. Newly planted flowers. The face of a freshman student walking on campus. A coworker who is generous with her grapes. Cold water on a warm day.
I appreciate the physical abilities I have. Walking. Breathing without pain. Moving. Climbing stairs. Grooming the pony.
I love the people in my life with a lack of inhibition about how I feel. My beloved people mean everything. I shower them with ridiculous crochet gifts. Time to sit together, to eat, to laugh, to argue, to sing. Nothing matters more.
I pray often. Not quite the constantly I strive for, but more than ever before. It brings peace. Calmness. It replaces my own self-generated internal chatter.
I look out, not at myself much anymore. In fact, I sometimes forget to check my hair before I leave the house. I surprise myself when I arrive at a mirror.
What is that independent mess of grey on my head!?
Could it be the beginning of wisdom?