This Week I Aged Another Year

A day dawned this week when I officially became a year older. 

At my age it is not a big event to close the chapter on one year and begin a new one, especially when the new year does not mark a milestone. A number ending in a 0 or 5 designates a benchmark year, a move into another stage of life. That did not happen to me this year. 

Some people admit their age only to those with security clearance. Some lie. Others don’t lie, they just don’t tell. They omit, move on to another subject, pretend they don’t hear the question. I am not one of these secretive souls. I don’t care if people know my age. I am not job-hunting and don’t have to shave a few years off my true age. I am not dating, so don’t have to spend time and energy making people believe I am younger than I am. I am not vain and don’t care if people think I look younger or, more likely, older than my actual age. 

I am who I am and look the way I do thanks to, or regrettably because of, genetics and lifestyle, a mix of positive and not-so-positive life choices. I prepare healthy meals and enjoy healthy food, but unfortunately also relish unwholesome fare. How do you characterize a large salad with a side of French fries? Or wings? Or both? 

I exercise regularly for a few weeks or months, then slack off for a few days or weeks, eventually starting again. My habits never included smoking or drugs (except prescribed meds). I drink moderately. I worked in a safe environment, heated in winter and air-conditioned in summer, with a window, coffee machine, and other modern office amenities. No excessive couch time until the pandemic. No artificial implants, except a rod and a few screws, the result of back surgery a couple of years ago. I am a 21st-century artifact, the result of a middle-class 20th-century lifestyle.

The relentless move from one year to the next did not concern me until recently. Concern is not the right word. Annoys me. Scares me. Bothers me. Crossing the threshold to another year is a positive occurrence, considering the alternative. I should rejoice. 

I am unlike my brother-in-law who refuses to answer the phone on his birthday and spends the day in bed or on the sofa. No dinners out, no phone calls, no parties, no high fives, no funny cards reminding him of the memorable day – nothing.

I splurged on lunch at a favorite restaurant, lingered over coffee, and shared a decadent piece of chocolate cake for dessert with hub. In the afternoon I savored a glass of wine and avoided any tedious work – bills, laundry, the mundane chores of life. 

I graciously accepted cards and gifts but did not expect any. There is nothing I need, although currently there is no chocolate in my house.

Another year older. A few more aches and pains, no additional pounds (yeah!), but body parts shift (boo). I don’t examine myself in the mirror for more wrinkles anywhere. I make sure my computer is far enough away so my Zoom frame does not clearly show my face and neck. I look best with diffused lighting on a hazy, fuzzy screen.

Another year wrapped up, and optimistically a lot more in my future.