Letter to My (Old-Lady) Self
I turn 67 this week. It’s an odd number teetering toward 70, which I don’t object to strenuously except that then the next aught-stop is 80. Just 13 years away. I’m planning ahead with just a touch of disbelief and panic. Here’s what I have to say to my future self.
Dear Old-Lady Leslie,
I don’t know when you’ll read this, when you’ll consider yourself a bona fide “old lady.” I’m pretty sure it won’t be until well after 80. Maybe you’ll still be so busy-crazy you won’t make time to read this. But please do. Get your coffee (decaf only!) and sit a minute.
You’ve stopped the mirror checks now, yes? You’ve kept your hair natural---white, grey and black, right? And surely you’ve quit the menopausal mourning over your lost waist and the weights you could lift, and the mountains you could bound? I hope you’re still working on a book but maybe you’re dictating it now, your hands finally giving in to their (arthritic) ghosts. But you’re not too old to keep learning this new math:
Don’t count what’s passed as things taken or lost. That strength, vigor, mobility, daring----it was all given to you for a time and you used it well: Children, books, houses, an island, all stand where there were none. Nothing can take that away.
If God still gives you a heart that burns and words that serve, keep writing and creating and teaching. But if you’re tired, it’s okay to stop. Maybe the only work you need now is to rise from night each day to love and to behold: the curl of the fern, the swallows in the wind, the ocean’s stormy pout and all the pages of the books and poems you’ve piled for just such a time as this.
Old Lady Leslie, I’m sure everyone is still a goddess and the golden gong of our time still clangs: “Love yourself above all others.” Okay, if you want or can, but mostly don’t bother. It’s such hard work and the payoff is scant. You’re your own worst tyrant and you’re seldom your best friend. And you have actual real friends who are wiser, kinder, and much more fascinating than you. Not to mention Jesus, whom mostly you can’t see but who has carried you all these years like a tender brother. Free yourself from loving yourself---he does it far better.
When your kids and kidlets call or visit, don’t make the visit about you, about all the ways you were disappointed and betrayed in life. If your cup of grievances hasn’t been drained by now, at least keep a lid on it. Ask them everything about their lives.
Don’t let them waste a moment of their years wondering if you love them. If you really want to show them strength, show them how grace never runs dry or out, that forgiveness comes from a bottomless well, that though you are aged and tired, God’s spirit is enlivening and changing you still.
Don’t give in to fear and gloom, however fashionable for your generation. Every generation is in the Last Days. Just work on making them the Best Days.
If someone is taking care of you, make them laugh every day.
Don’t pretend to be wise just because you’re old. Say ”I don’t know” as often as you can.
Eat once in awhile. Have as much ice cream as you want.
Don’t quit the red lipstick. Ever.
Most of all, remember that all you have is one little life that is passing soon. You can spend your days clinging to your dwindling thimble or you can joyfully fling it out into a hundred cups. When you do, it will never run out.
Keep flinging, old lady. May all our cups run over.
(Friends, do you know someone who needs this lift? Would you share with them?)
