What if we respected aging instead of dreading and denigrating it?
(I believe we only denigrate it because we fear it.)
What if being in one place for 30 or 40 or 50 (or more!) years meant you were a source of history and information? A wealth of knowledge?
What if grey was just another hair color? Bald just another style?
What if we looked forward to all of the benefits brought to us in our 40s and 50s and beyond, instead of the disproportionate focus on aesthetics and metabolism?
What if we took care of ourselves so that we didn’t feel so old and break down as quickly at 40 or 50 or 60? (And understood that we need to fuel ourselves well regardless of our metabolism?)
What if scars were evidence of stories and wrinkles evidence of having lived?
Embrace the things you’ve learned just by virtue of having lived. Do your best to let go of the crap and hang onto the good stuff. Learn from those who have lived more. (Enjoy the innocence from those who have lived less.)
Every age has wonderful things and terrible things about it. (If nothing else, parenting has taught me this.)
* This is all an enormous generalization. We use age as the variable, but it’s much more life experience and openness to learning than years lived.