Today I am going to talk about old people stuff. Or rather the joy in old age. Do you know that old age is a gift? It is true that one should not regret of growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.
I read somewhere that we all start to age the moment we are born. But we only start to get old the moment we no longer find beauty in living and reasons to live.
I like to share with you this inspiring article about the joy in old age or the joy of growing old. Remember what the old people say is important in life. Let’s read and find out:
For the first time in my life, I am now the person, I have always wanted to be. Of course not my old weary body; of wrinkles, baggy eyes, old age spots and the sagging butt. Yes, initially I was taken aback by that old person reflecting in the mirror, but I don’t agonize over those things anymore.
I would never trade my great buddies, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a smoother skin. As I’ve aged gracefully, I’ve become more kind and less critical to myself. I’ve become my own friend. I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cookies, for not making my bed, or for buying that useless stuff that I don’t actually use or need.
These days I can overeat, be messy, or even be extravagant, if I want to. I have seen too many of dear friends who left this world too soon; before they realized all these freedom that comes with aging. The joy of growing old. Who cares it if I choose to read those racy novels until 4:00 am and sleep until noon? I still twist or rather tremble alone to those nostalgic tunes from old records playing on my gramophone.Or if I wish to cry over a corny love song, I will. I may look silly to others, but why should I care. I’m alive!
I still walk the beach in my swim suit that is stretched over my bulging body and I love to dive into the waves with abandon, frolicking like a kid. I laugh over those jokes and cartoons about old age, or any other humor on aging. Why not, when I can still understand and they really funny indeed. At least I live long enough to laugh at the quirkiness of my kind.
Forgetfulness in old age? Memory loss old age? Well, I am forgetful at times. But anyway, isn’t it true that there are things in life, which are better be forgotten? Anyway, I think I still remember the important stuff.
Like many, my heart has been broken many a times; when you lose a loved one, or when a see a child suffers, or even when a beloved pet died. But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. I agree that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I have long accepted that life is never perfect and can never be fair all the time. It is true that if you fight with reality, you lose every time 100 percent.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to see my hair turn gray and to have my ever-youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed that much and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
I can say “no” and mean it. I can say “yes” and mean it. As I get older, I feel it is easier to be positive. I care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself all the time anymore. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.
So, do I like being old? The answer is a resounding yes. Old age is a gift which not many have the chance to enjoy it. I’m one of those lucky geezers. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. You can call me old people, senior citizen, elderly people or the aged. It doesn’t matter. All these old people stuff sounds music to my ears because I’m still alive and I can still hear them clearly, just like when I listen to my teenage grandson’s iPod playing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” or “Paparazzi”
Oh yes, I still eat my sandwich every single day. And one of my favorite quotes about old age is: “In youth the days are short and the years are long; in old age the years are short and the days long.” by Nikita Ivanovich Panin