ON GROWING OLD...SHOWING FORTH GRACE

My best friend from high school days is the same age I am, 80. I am surprised at her fearful resistance to being 80. It's not fear of death that she's resisting so much as the natural changes that age brings...and, trust us, they seem to double, triple and quadruple the minute 80 arrives.

I read, I know not where, the following out of a book on aging by Parker Palmer, and it describes my thoughts on being old:

But the junk I really need to jettison in my old age is psychological junk—such as longtime convictions about what gives my life meaning that no longer serve me well. For example, who will I be when I can no longer do the work that has been a primary source of identity for me for the past half century?

I no longer ask, 'What do I want to let go of, and what do I want to hang on to?' Instead I ask,'What do I want to let go of, and what do I want to give myself to?'

The desire to 'hang on' comes from a sense of scarcity and fear. The desire to 'give myself' comes from a sense of abundance and generosity. That’s the kind of truth I want to wither into. -- Parker Palmer, "On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity and Getting Old" 

Interesting to me is that I have been so taken with my friend's resistance to 80 that I never looked at my feelings about it. I could see they were not the same as hers, and I went no further...and who's kidding whom...while feeling slightly superior.

It's the penultimate paragraph of Palmer's squib that sang to me, that presented me with my goal: I no longer ask, 'What do I want to let go of, and what do I want to hang on to?' Instead I ask,'What do I want to let go of, and what do I want to give myself to?'  

I especially love the last line, That’s the kind of truth I want to wither into. Those words, to wither into, speak of fear-free aging to me. Mainly, because we avoid the word withering in our own minds much less in taking it out on the street. But it does epitomize aging...withering. 

I just remembered. I once noticed a withered rose...still perfectly shaped, but drooping, a tish frayed around the edges, faded...but with a certain grace about her...at least that's how I remember it. And remembering, I can hope to be like that rose...drooping, frayed and faded, but with just a touch of grace.

Thank you.