On Staying Young

at heart

The body withers. Skin spots and wrinkles fold over forearms. Muscles weaken, hair dulls and greys, Rolls of fat adorn the mid-section like squishy hula hoops.

Luckily, we can cover the arms, color the grey, and rearrange the fat with Spanx.

All of the camouflaging, coloring, and spandex does not change the dial when we disrobe and enter the shower. There we are—in a glass box with bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, loofahs, razors and various soaps. We are in our own spa, dutifully cleansing and polishing our old skin.

Somehow the loofa makes us feel as if the dead cells on our arms are being rubbed off.

When I finish dressing, examining my face and attending to puttying and patching, coloring and lining, and imagining what I will look like in ten years—my younger self emerges from the glass box full of hope and optimism about my day.

The rich smell of strong coffee, the kerplunk of cold creamer into the cup, a toasted piece of sour dough with cottage cheese on top—and a devoted dog, hoping for a handout—these small basic gifts to myself—make me feel young.

Meeting my friends for coffee or lunch, discussing world affairs, usually with conservatives because liberals seem to go crazy with few facts, reading fascinating articles from independent publications like County Highway, walking the dog, trying new recipes from Jenn Segal finding out how others are doing, what they doing, why they are doing what they are doing—just a short list of activities that make me feel alive.

A sense of wonder about this world, creatures, environment.

Eating fairly well. Note, that I have a cookie every day 2:00.

Keeping moving in some way.

Laughing when something is funny. Certain people in my life are funny, so I look forward to being or talking with them.

Staying engaged with my friends who might be struggling with illness or loneliness.

Connecting with my grand kids on text!

These are daily choices that I try to make, not always successfully.

I recommit every morning.