Aging Fantastically
The Awakening
I will never forget the morning I first realized that I was aging… and not so fantastically. There was nothing particularly unusual about the day. I had gotten out of bed at 5:30 AM, gone through a stretch, scratch, and frown routine, made a mental note that my shoulder was stiff again, and then noted that my feet hurt when I walked across the floor. Not new occurrences, but nagging, in that I was beginning to accept the aches and pains
as part of my awakening routine, part of my life.
What was jarring was that I was beginning to mirror my grandmother. I could remember her complaining about body aches, while reaching for the rubbing alcohol or Bengay. I remember thinking, “Why does she have to move that way, sit with her legs gapping, and have me thread the needle when she wants to darn clothes.”
This memory of my grandmother was, if not earth shattering, certainly eye-opening. Especially, when I applied these pictures to what I felt and saw in my own life. However, more than the physical limitations, I realized that I was stagnant in other areas of my life.
Somewhere, along the way, I got lost. So on that gray, achy morning, when I looked in the bathroom mirror, I felt like the Rip Van Winkle character that peered in wonder at his image after twenty-five years of slumber.
I had no financial package to speak of, no retirement other than social security, and you know what that means in today’s world. Worse, I had no concrete plans for long-term survival. In fact, as I began a tally sheet of personal assets, financial and otherwise, my future forecast was grim to say the least. First off, I was not fit – mentally or physically. I had become cumbrous and dated. Not only did my wardrobe reflect a potpourri of styles, some clothes and shoes dated back to the seventies, but my make-up, hair and accessories screamed “yesterday, passé, buried, gone.”
I had spent thirty years raising three sons, most of the time alone. In this family, I was a star-athlete. To quote my granny, “I was the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker.” On any given day, I could wear five different hats. I was the cook, maid, caretaker, breadwinner, coach, disciplinarian, nurse, confidant, best friend, worst nightmare, tutor, policewoman and above all, Mother.
Somewhere, along the way, I got lost. So on that gray, achy morning, when I looked in the bathroom mirror, I felt like the Rip Van Winkle character that peered in wonder at his image after twenty-five years of slumber.
I recognized the woman in the mirror, but it was not the image I wanted to see. This woman was in bad need of a tune-up. But, unlike my car, there was no neighborhood Jiffy Lube, or Tune-Up Master that I could pull into for “instant” oil or filter change. Today, I can look in the mirror and celebrate the image. I have changed, and the overhaul was not instantaneous. Rather it required physical and psychological repairs that not only renewed and revitalized my life, but gave me a new purpose and resolve. My health is improved, my spirituality is enriched, my sexuality is enhanced, my professional skill-sets are bolstered, and my finances upgraded. I am renewed, and it is an open secret.
Renewal is a set of protocols that can be shared, and it is a strategy that is duplicable. I found that there were two primary and indispensable ingredients to reconstructing one’s life -- commitment and self-love. They were the glue that fused everything together, and they were the ingredients that launched my new beginnings.
Join me, and I can promise that you will begin a phenomenal journey toward Aging Fantastically.