I was doing yoga the other day to keep my body moving the way doctors advise you to do as you age. And, boy, am I aging.
I was in the downward dog position, my body stretched into an inverted V shape, hands and feet firmly planted on the floor, hips and butt raised toward the ceiling. While this pose gives your spine and calves a full stretch, it also gives you a close look at your thighs. Too close.
Normally I wear tights, but this time I was wearing shorts and I was horrified by what I saw: dimpled flesh sagging off the bone, crepe-paper skin, and lumps of fat where muscle used to be. I was so horrified that I rolled up my yoga mat and walked out of the room.
Getting old sucks.
I was okay with turning 50. I was still in great shape, running, biking, and swimming. But as I approached 60, my neck and shoulders started to ache. I couldn’t bike or swim without a burning pain that would last for days. I went to an orthopedist who informed me I had arthritis and instructed me to “modify my activities.” I left his office in tears.
On my 60th birthday I expected to feel depressed about the approach of my twilight years. Instead, I woke up feeling grateful to have made it to 60, considering my late husband died of a ruptured aorta at 43. Growing old is a privilege, I told myself. Try to appreciate being alive and healthy. And I did. For a while.
But now I’m 63 and the list of aches, pains, and ailments is growing longer. My heart isn’t working as reliably as it used to. I’ve lost a few teeth. My bunions scream at me at night. The cellulite on my thighs and other body parts is spreading like a rash. And don’t even get me started on the wrinkles on my face. Selfies taken with my smart phone are even more horrifying than seeing my thighs in the downward dog pose. I don’t look young anymore. Because I’m not young anymore.
What I didn’t expect over these last few years was to feel so much loss, and so much grief over the wearing down of this human body, this temporary vehicle for the soul. Yes, I am still alive and relatively healthy, but the athlete I was in my 30s and 40s is a thing of the past. I will never be that fit again. Even the most well-maintained body is like a car; it can’t run forever without replacing parts and there are only so many human parts that can be replaced. And as my body continues to age, the only thing in my future, besides a guarantee of more health issues, is a grave. And that makes me sad.
Aging isn’t the only thing making me sad though. I never expected that in my lifetime I would see the likes of what’s happening in our country and in the world. A world ruled by oligarchs, misogynists, racists, greed, violence, and corruption. The McCarthy era took place before I was born, yet it always disturbed me deeply. I couldn’t conceive how that was allowed to happen in our country and was sure it would never happen again. I always assumed humanity would evolve toward the good. I expected that I would see equal rights for all; that immigrants would be embraced; that we’d have more protections and respect for the environment. I expected the Constitution, the rule of law, the Golden Rule, and basic decency to hold. And now look at the state of things. It’s far, far worse than what Joseph McCarthy wrought. We are now in Hitler territory.
I always hoped the world would be a better, kinder, more unified place by the time I leave it, and I’ve always tried to do my part to help. But it feels like we’re on one big death march toward the annihilation of civilization. Forget the grief over my body; the destruction of our democracy, the defunding of science, the banning of books, the bombing of fishing boats, the denial of infectious diseases, and the exploitation of our planet’s finite resources is next level depressing. How do you even begin to heal the grief of all that?
You roll out the yoga mat.
Yoga has more benefits than just the physical ones; it has been proven to relieve stress, manage depression, and calm the mind. And my mind needs calming even more than my muscles need toning.
Next time I do yoga, however, I will wear full-length leggings. The leggings, along with my cataracts, will keep me from seeing what’s become of my thighs.
And as I stretch and twist and bend, I will remind myself, repeating the words over and over like a mantra, What a privilege it is to grow old. What a privilege it is to be alive.
Beth Howard is an author and filmmaker living in Donnellson, Iowa. To learn more about her film, go to TheWorldNeedsMorePie.com.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of TSPR or its license holder, Western Illinois University.
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