Oct. 23, 2025
I just signed off from an online journaling session led by two creative and inspirational women. There were almost 500 hungry pens in the zoom meeting. Faces in small boxes against the black backdrop, names and pronouns neatly labelling each square.
A popular exercise to loosen up thoughts and words is to provide a prompt and then a period of time to write. Our creative muse was the phrase “what else”. I immediately began scribing a list of fears interrupted with a few preferences; I like to drink warm water and eat crunchy food – in an attempt to look less timid and pathetic.
The facts: I am afraid of becoming irrelevant as I age. What else? I am afraid of not dying, instead living infirmed, feeble or with chronic pain. What else? I am afraid of my mind narrowing and my world getting small. What else? I am afraid I could write forever with nothing worthy of print.
No one declares that they are looking forward to getting old. Perhaps in a sentient moment those who have had a grave illness, or near-death experience might profess gratitude to still be here. Those who have lost a young parent or dear friend are more likely to mark the years they have lived beyond the void and heartbreak. It’s better than the alternative, is an apt though defeatist statement.
Aging is the inevitable, unavoidable and indiscriminate process that awaits all of us still above ground. We are being inundated with social media, literature, supplements, medications, cosmetic interventions and new joints to ease the spiral of loss that characterizes our decline.
The advancements and research may help us live longer. If we want to. The threat of chronic pain, dementia, or a life altering (stealing) condition, lurks. With each birthday the risks increase. The past can’t be changed so we live with our DNA and earlier life habits. Fingers crossed.
We study the Blue Zones, nutrition tips, the latest exercise phenomena to keep our joints subtle and our muscles strong. We subscribe to games and puzzles to stimulate our tired brain cells and keep our neurons firing.
Exhausted from the work to maintain my mind and body, I may forget that I look like a sixty plus woman.
Shopping with my 30 something daughters provides the harsh and humble reminder of where I sit in the hierarchy of attention. Feeling trim and young at heart fades like cheap tanning lotion when I enter a trendy shop and glance at the wide eyed, thick lashed, and lip flipped young women straightening hangers and folding sweaters. They fawn over my beautiful girls, presenting outfit suggestions, helping with sizes. I struggle with three dresses on hangers over my arms, sourced by myself. As I hear muffled voices from the changing rooms at the back I notice I am all alone. I can’t decide whether I feel I have invaded a forbidden space, or I am invisible, or both. I hang the dresses back on the rack and quietly exit the store. My ego is bruised, and I am angry that I have passed into the age of irrelevance.
I have a morning routine that includes journaling and reading affirming and spiritual passages from various sources. I find the daily message from a book of meditations by Indigenous elders comforting. Age is revered, and wisdom and experience appreciated and passed on. There is no place in their culture for ageism and irrelevant old people.
I am dedicated to creating an expansive life, being heard, and learning and giving back as the number of candles on my birthday cake grows, I head to the gym and sip a green smoothie. My relevance is determined by my attitude and actions. Every moment counts.