The First Remembrance: I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
. . .
Aging comes inevitably, step by slower step—inviting us to slow down and move inward, toward acceptance, simplicity, and the essence of love.
I can no longer walk up a hill, heck, even a small incline, without feeling out of breath.
The ghosts of old pains live in my body as diminished fantoms—sciatica in my left leg, rotator cuff pain in my left shoulder, occasional pain in my left lower abdomen.
Unexplained neuralgia has made my feet and hands numb and tingly. In the winter, I am in danger of frostbite when I walk the dog on days when the temperature is below freezing. I’ve purchased rechargeable hand warmers. I haven’t found a solution for my toes, which are perpetually inflamed on the tips. My numb fingers are clumsy. I’m surprised when things slip through them. I live in fear of dropping a knife on the cat.
My nose runs continuously. I could single-nosedly keep Puffs Plus Lotion in business. I drool embarrassingly, noticing only when it is too late.
My neck is constantly stiff; it’s painful when I turn left or right. Thank goodness for the backup camera on my car!
All this diminishment, though I exercise five days a week: swimming, cardio, weights, and yoga; now and then a little Qigong, and have done so for 30 years. I eat and drink in moderation. Sleeping is another matter.
I feel exhausted doing half of what I used to do. I used to work in the yard all day long on weekends. Now, after an hour, I need a nap. When I shovel snow, I must stop to catch my breath every three or four shovelfuls.
All these symptoms of aging require new and creative workarounds. If I can find none, I must let go. No more mountain climbing, even small ones like Bradbury. I can’t walk the dog or hurry on foot to a meeting after breakfast or lunch. If I try, I’ll have to stop multiple times along the way to catch my breath. I stopped going out after dinner in the evenings long ago. Many physical activities require planning, asking, “Is it safe, doable, can you sustain it? What will be the effects the following day?” Travel is complicated: time changes throw my medication schedule off whack, I have to lug my CPAP machine with me, I can’t always find easily digestible food, and bowel irregularity is a problem. Staying home becomes increasingly attractive.
I counsel myself: bundle up, slow down, plan, embrace the inner journey. Celebrate the possible. One hour of gardening is a cause for delight. Simplify. Rest. Draw the circle closer in, nearer the core of life. At the same time, let your tenderness and compassion ripple further out into the universe. Drill down to the essence of love. Stay there; make it home.
Questions for reflection: Are you grateful for what remains possible? Has slowing down deepened your experience of life? What does it mean to make love your home?
With All Due Respect 