The fun of aging

There's a lot to be said for growing older, though I can't for the moment think of an example. Perhaps it's as simple as my dad's response whenever I asked how he did: "I'm still here."

I joined a small group of friends Sunday for a visit to the Portland Art Museum and its Frida Kahlo exhibit. After we'd seen what we came for we retreated to a Starbucks for coffee and conversation. Eventually and inevitably our talk came round to the fun of aging. One of us, after a year of struggling, has sadly decided to give up the violin due to uncooperative fingers. She has for several years played weekly with a distant friend using FaceTime, and she regrets losing not only the music but time spent with her pal. Without an excuse to stay in touch, will they? She is mourning that loss, and it's no different than grieving the loss of a pet or a spouse. Grief is grief. Only the duration varies, and no one but you and your body decide that.

Aging is accepting the process of letting go. We give up physical activities we once enjoyed, or change our spacious home for a smaller one. We lose friends to death or simply through lack of contact. We throw things out. Our lives contract in ways seen and unseen; a slow drawing in of boundaries that one can weep over, or accept. I waver. But I am fortunate in having good health, thanks in part to yoga and swimming, though I don't have the stamina I once had. I miss having a yard to putter in and most of all I miss Ray.

I think it's wise to let yourself grieve for the losses you experience, even those that may seem insignificant to yourself or others. I also think it's important to name the feeling. Too often we set our emotions aside or try to hide them, as if they're unimportant or even embarrassing. They aren't. Grief is legitimate in any instance of loss and as we age we have more reasons to feel it. And grieving can introduce us to other ways of being and seeing.

Still, we can't let mourning deprive us of everything life offers. Curiosity, surprise, even opportunities are still available for use; so is learning, so is love and friendship. So is everything in nature, including the healing that the natural world holds for us.

There are lots of things right now that make me unhappy: climate change, guns, violence, homelessness, poverty, ignorance; the senseless war in Ukraine and the growing threats to our democracy. My list feels endless and it's full of things I did not expect to be worrying about at the age of 80. Yet here I am, and I'm so very grateful.

This morning I found myself thinking of Istanbul/Constantinople after reading a short collection of writings about that city. It made me homesick for Turkey and our days in Istanbul, staying in the Agatha Christie room, wandering the streets and alleys of the grand bazaar; buying fresh fish sandwiches from a boat tied up along the shore. I have a lifetime of such memories and I plan to make more. Unless my mind goes first I can take those memories with me everywhere, even to a smaller home or a hospital bed. Because life is a happy miracle, even when we think it isn't.