Going Grey?

The past few weeks I’m beginning to notice a bit more grey. Nope, not on my head, but on my eyebrows. Mostly the left one. The snow of age begins to fall on the inside corner, and it startles me each time I see it. I peer closely in the mirror and examine it – curious. The very few grey strands in my hair have been there for many years – and from time to time I find a new one – and I delight in it – finally! But this … this feels different … to me.

I’ll turn toward the end of my 51st year in just a few weeks – and I’ve noticed that … to me … the odd years feel older than the even ones. Fifty felt just fine. 51? That feels more signigicant – weightier somehow. But, not older – just … something.

I interviewed a wonderful woman, Mary MacMakin, last week – she was in her early 80s. I asked the traditional “how does it feel to be an older person” and she smiled and said that she feels no different than at 18 or 36 or 53. She told me that always – she feels like herself.  Yeah – I get that.

We talked about how good it feels to be in a body. She’s lived a long and active life – horseriding, hiking, swimming, and more, I’m sure. We talked about the pleasure we both feel in simple movement – walking, yoga, tai chi. Today, I walked out on the trail in the warm, sunny afternoon. I meandered along, explored new places, enjoyed the feel of the sun and the breeze on my skin – the pleasure of being a human animal on the move – the feeling of my feet touching and returning to the earth over and over again. There were many others on the trail – huffing and puffing as they ran, walked, and biked with great focus and attention. Not for me, I know that. I wonder sometimes, though, is there any pleasure for them in this experience of efforting at exercise?

I’ve been writing a paper on genetically modified food and one of the books I’ve read is Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food.  It’s well-written and though I didn’t know all the specifics he presented – I’ve known the theme for 30 years. Eat food. Not food products. And more … eating is a social pleasure, not a scientific function. So when I see people out there counting calories and weighing portions – when I see them gobbling food down as fast as possible as they grab a bite between classes, between meetings, as they drive on to their next scheduled activity, when I hear that they don’t know how to cook – or don’t enjoy it … I wonder – is there any pleasure for them in this experience?

I love the various pleasures of life. I love the pleasures of movement and food, of conversation and thought, of learning something new or remembering something old.  I love the pleasure of beauty in unexpected places, the pleasure of falling asleep – or waking in the morning to a new day.

I love the pleasure of change – of the changes I’ve experienced in myself over the past almost two years since I realized that I’d be moving on – that I’d be moving to Butte f*in’ Montana.  LikeMary MacMakin, I feel like myself more and more. Each day, each experience, each choice allows me to feel more and more like me. The grey – it’s like a new decoration … new glasses, a new shirt, a new barette. It doesn’t define me – it enhances me.