I've never been an athlete. I've never been much
interested in sports, ever since I stopped playing
touch-football with the boys, when I hit puberty.
I've tried tennis. I hit the ball too high, too long,
and way over into left field. I've tried softball. Thank
goodness that ball is "soft" and big, because it felt
just awful when it hit me in the eye. I tried running,
but I couldn't get anyone to chase me.
I tried swimming, but even though I float like a cork,
and have had numerous lessons, I can't seem to get
over the idea, that I'm really going to drown. Finally,
I settled on walking, and for a number of years, I
walked 3 to 5 miles a day. I realize that there is
an Olympic sport referred to as "walking," but when
I tried that, all I succeeded in doing was throwing my hip out.
I'm definitely NOT an athlete, but I make do, especially
in my "mid-life" years. Which brings a question to my
mind. When did I hit mid-life? I remember when I hit
thirty. I had to visit a grief counselor, because I knew
my life was over. I remember forty. I had to see a grief
counselor, the day after my first child graduated from
high-school and moved out of the house, because I
knew my life was over. I remember forty-four. For
some reason I thought my life was over. Then I hit
fifty, and I was all excited, because I was able to join
an organization called AARP. My husband was,
especially, excited because he is younger than I,
and he got to join, too!
Fifty became the magic age. I knew that as long as
I was in good health, in this day and age, I probably
had a good fifty years ahead of me. Then came the
asthma. O.K., I had that much earlier, but it only
became life threatening after fifty. Then came the
firbromyalgia. O.K., I had THAT earlier, but it's not
life threatening. Then came the arthritis, and, more
recently, at fifty-five, came the diabetes. Somewhere,
along in there, I became very interested in
pharmaceuticals, and, finally, one day, I became free.
I began by noticing the sunsets, and I had the time
to stop and really wonder, at the beauty and the
magnitude of it all. Then I moved onto the sunrises,
and I quickly found out that if I wasted the early
morning, I missed the loveliest part of the day. Then
I began to notice how grateful I was to be able to
witness the changing of the seasons. The first whisper
of spring; the rustling of the leaves beneath my feet, in
the fall; that first breathless covering of a winter's snow;
and in the summer, all the flowers, and the buzzing of
a bumblebee.
When illness would hit me, I found that I, actually,
enjoyed the solitude. A time to reflect, gather my
thoughts, and pray, at leisure. I found that I was
"experiencing" this mid-life season, and I was no
longer missing every moment, shackled to the chains
of worry, and what "might" be. I found that worrying
about tomorrow, only served to make me overlook the
blessings of today.
It's not always easy. A few loads of laundry, and a pile
of dishes can take an entire day; but then I don't push
myself a lot. So, I forget to make the bed, as I watch
the rosy glow of dawn meet the rising sun. I have time
to walk our little, wooded acre with my little dachshund
straining at the leash. I get to read the "signs," with
my Happy Dog, sniff the air, and gaze out at nowhere,
studying the sky, with the same intensity that my little
dog studies the ground.
I get to meet the day, every day. I get to say
"good-night," to the sunsets. I've studied a lot of
sunsets, in the last five years, and I've never seen
two that were alike. I get to know my Creator as
I never have before, and I've gotten to make MY mind
up, about the mysteries of life; and I have grown
certain, that all this was no accident.
I feed the birds, and I take great delight in their
multicolored hues, especially in the spring. I drag
a chair to stand on, so that I can fill the feeders to
the brim, myself. I say a little prayer, as I wobble,
a little cock-eyed on the chair, and I laugh, at
myself, and all the pretensions of my younger
life. I take great delight in my life. I thank God
for all the precious little things of every day.
Friends. Family. Neighbors. And health. A health
of the soul. For I have come to understand what
real health is, and when you have REAL health,
then you truly have everything.
