It's Just a Number, Right?

How old are you? The blunt question came hurtling out of the blue, from a woman I had met only minutes before.

I hesitated. I have a milestone birthday coming up, and this stranger was forcing me to confront it head-on. Heavy with reluctance, I finally mumbled the number, then waited for a shocked gasp of disbelief that never came. Not even the satisfaction of a surprised blink.

As our conversation continued, I caught myself qualifying, equivocating, practically apologizing. "I think of myself as a young 70-something," I blathered, before launching into an unnecessary summary of my healthy lifestyle habits. By the time I had dragged out all the colorful adjectives to describe how vibrant and youthful I really am, I felt like a court jester waving a ribbon-festooned baton.

That silly display was all on me. Maybe my new acquaintance hadn't flinched at the numerus horribilis because it didn't mean much to her. Maybe she figured I was an emotionally healthy person who didn't need to hear flattering proclamations of amazement. And just maybe I could take a cue from this forthright person and stop dithering over the "big birthdays," stop worrying about other people pigeon-holing me based on ageist preconceptions.

The numbers-define-us hang-up is pervasive, though—for IQ, weight, even height. For decades, I measured 5' 7.5" at my annual physicals. A few years ago, I noticed this measurement had dropped by half an inch. Okay. No biggie. But last year the nurse recorded it as 5' 6", and I was appalled. When I frantically scoured my checkup summary printout, I saw that the number was actually 5' 6.75"; the nurse had rounded down, instead of up. But still, why should her error have assaulted my pride so?

I suppose it boils down to facing one's mortality. As the years creep by, we gain a few pounds, we lose a few inches in height, we worry about our cognitive skills. It's like a many-spoked wheel, with age as the center hub. Sprouting from that essential statistic are all the radiating effects. "I can't jog, shoot baskets, bowl, dance, or compute as fast, easily, long, or accurately as I once could."

Time to take a deep breath and reframe it all as a prayer of gratitude and a change of attitude. I can learn a new sport that better suits me now. (Pickleball, anyone?) I can find brain-rousing word games or learn to play the piano. I can explore new interests and challenge myself to do yoga.

And I can look to others who have inspired me, like my stepmother, Zelda, who wrote quirky poems like this one to her beloved well into her 80s:

Come walk with me, light of my life, we'll celebrate these years.

The glad times, and the sad times too, the laughter and the tears.

We've had ups and downs but we've both come through

and it's been a joy to hold.

So stay awhile and side-by-side we'll put off growing old.

Excellent advice, don't you think?