Can You Hear Me Now

If I had to choose just one day
To last my whole life through
It would surely be that Sunday
The day that I met you

George David Weiss

“How old am I?”

She looked up from her book. “What?”

“I said, how old am I?”

“Don’t be silly. You know how old you are.”

“I want you to tell me. How old am I?”

“Alright, you’re the same age as I am. 71.”

“No, I’m not. I’m 19 years old and so are you. We’re 19 years old and I just saw you for the very first time. You are wearing faded blue jeans and an old sweat shirt. You are walking across campus and I am thinking to myself, ‘That’s the girl I am going to marry.’ That’s how old I am.”

She put down her book, lowered her glasses, and smiled.

The Inner Child

Speaking of age, Mark Twain famously said, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

If someone were to ask the age of my middle school granddaughter, she would never say 11. Depending on the month, she would say “11 and a half,” or “11 and three quarters.” As her birthday approaches, I am quite confident that the answer will be “almost 12.”

Ask me the same question and I would pause, wonder how long it has been since my last birthday, count the months until my next birthday, and even then get it wrong by one year too many or one year too few.

It’s not that age doesn’t matter (or that my mind is shot). I certainly feel the changes in my body (none of them are good) and I am well aware of how I think differently than the man I was in my 20s and 30s. Things that seemed perfectly clear decades ago are now shrouded in mist and confusion.

What matters is that unlike my 11-something granddaughter, I am no longer rushing to my next birthday. That doesn’t mean that I am afraid of growing older or that I am trying to stop time. It’s more that the number of years I’ve spent on this planet is not the important milestone it once was. These days I am more focused on who I am today and what I can do with the life I have been given. I still care about tomorrow, but I’ve learned that tomorrow is shaped more by what I am working on in the here and now than what I might do in an uncertain future.

There is an age I’m told where cavalier and careless
give way to restraint and reserve
where conformity is prized above all
and singularly becomes a relic of a reckless past
the age of submission of falling in line and gleeful surrender

And yet, here I am
long past 60
still heedless
still rash
disregarding boundaries
and forever coloring outside the lines

Freedom’s Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose

On the cusp of World War II, Franklin D. Roosevelt delivered his annual State of the Union Address. In it he spoke of four freedoms. They were:

• Freedom of Speech
• Freedom of Worship
• Freedom of Want
• Freedom of Fear

As I contemplated President Roosevelt’s words, I thought about the freedoms that come from aging.

I have long since given up the notion that I can do or control everything. I tried that and it didn’t work out so well. Not only is it an unrealistic goal, but the attempt to be all things to all people at all times leads to disappointment, anger, and resentment. Now, I ground myself in service and love and only do what I can do at any one point in time. I set boundaries and I keep them.

I call this the Freedom to Accept Myself.

Aging has also allowed me to speak my mind more freely. As a retired man, I no longer worry about what an employer, coworker, or customer might think of me. That doesn’t give me the permission to let my words be rash or unkind. Rather, I express what is important to me. I speak my truths respectfully without worrying about who they might offend.

I call this the Freedom to be Me.

I have written quite a few articles about my spiritual journey. I began life in a Catholic home and I am now living as a spiritual being that sees wonder in both the explained and unexplainable. I have no god in the traditional sense, but I have come to the realization that powers beyond my understanding are all around me. I have given myself permission to acknowledge that I am not as alone as I once thought I was.

I call this the Freedom of Awakening.

I have experienced so much life over the past 60 plus years. I have known moments of intense joy, times of overwhelming pain, and everything in-between. I’ve been hurt and I’ve hurt the people that were important to me. For far too long I kept my emotions at a distance, but that didn’t serve me or those around me very well. Now, I attempt to welcome in everything –the easy and the hard. I still struggle with the difficult emotions and I am far more balanced than I was in previous decades.

I call this The Freedom to Feel.

Perhaps there are other freedoms, but those are the big ones and it’s not hard to fit most of my current life into one of those four categories. I express crazy love to my family because I have the freedom to be me. I proudly walk the Tofte Trek rather than running it as I did for 26 years because I have the freedom to accept myself as I am. I openly cry when I speak of the deaths of my brothers because I have found the freedom to feel. I ask complex, probing questions and allow the universe to answer because I have the freedom of awakening.

So, how old am I? I am seven and I am listening to this thing called The Beatles on my older brother’s transistor radio. I am 19 and I am seeing Linda for the very first time. I am 25 and I am watching my first son being born. I am 55 and I am waiting to hear that my first grandchild has entered the world. I am 65 and I am telling my manager that I have reached the end of my career. I am 66 and I am looking forward to helping prepare a meal for 80.

I am all that and everything in-between. That’s how old I am. May it always be so.

Thank you for reading.

No longer do I wait for crumbs and hand-me-downs
the castoff rejections of those who pick and choose
with privileged hands and eyes
no longer do I stand at the back of the line
envious of those who dare to step forward

To be seen for who I am
and not the one I am presumed to be
to be heard above the din and clutter
of sameness and conformity

This is my call
my beckon
this is the celebration of the dazzle of daybreak in me