She Thinks

My initial thought for this topic was to try to think of any old people I’ve know, whom I consider to have aged gracefully…because the concept of aging gracefully is way too out there for me yet.

I’m just 54 ya know.  Waaaaaay too young to have to think about aging gracefully…yet.

And then it hit me.

There are people out there who are probably looking at me right now and judging whether or not they think I’m aging gracefully, or not.  OY.

But I’ve known for awhile now that the older we get…the older our definition of “old” becomes.  So logically, to a teenager, I’m old.  And for me, an older person is at least 100!

Typically, I think we define “aging gracefully” in terms of physical attractiveness as the primary benchmark. We look at people (mostly celebrities) and judge them as “holding up nicely” or still looking beautiful or handsome as they age, especially when they reach that turning point age of 60 or so.

Case in point… I was watching Helen Mirren at this year’s Academy Awards and was struck by how absolutely stunning I thought she was “for a woman of her age.”  Truly someone who was aging gracefully.  And then we googled her and found out that she was only 65!

I’m sorry Helen Mirren…you’re waaaaaay too young for me to be talking about how you’re aging gracefully!!!  I promise to wait at least another 10-15 years before commenting on it again for you.

And who didn’t start talking about Jane Fonda or Barbra Streisand at the Golden Globes or Academy Awards this year and do the same thing!?!

We appreciate people who still look good as they’re getting old(er).  And we’re terribly disappointed when they don’t.

As a society, we do it more for women than we do for men.  But men don’t get off the hook entirely.  We still like them to retain a certain ruggedness or sophistication as they age.   But there just isn’t as much pressure on them to retain their youthful appearance as there tends to be for women.

But it can’t just be about physical appearance.  It has to include our behavior.  Our style.  Our actions in the world.  The totality of who we are.

And so, I believe that aging gracefully must take practice.  It must take years to perfect.  You don’t begin to live gracefully once you reach a certain age.  No, it has to be a natural continuation of a life lived with grace.

As Fred Astaire once said, “Old age is like everything else.  To make a success of it, you’ve got to start young.”

I almost bailed on this topic as I was really struggling to come up with any bad habits.

(Cause I’m just such a wonderful person.)

Or…I can’t keep focused long enough to think about any bad stuff about myself.

So I asked Ally.

I left her a voicemail saying that I was having a really hard time and needed her to tell me what bad habits I had.  (I figured they’d just roll off her tongue!)

Apparently, my message must have come off as somewhat needy with a high pitched voice, because she texted me back:

“Just got your message…be sure to add whining to the list.”

So I whine.  But only when I don’t get what I want…when I want it.

And I guess that’s a bad habit.

I also leave the TV on for the dogs when I’m not home.

I don’t really expect them to watch it, but somehow I feel like the noise of human voices coming out of the box on the wall will provide comfort to them in my absence.

But I know it doesn’t.  They could care less.  It just makes me feel better about leaving them.

And I know it’s a really bad habit because it totally wastes energy.

But I don’t stop.  I left it on for them tonight when I went out for dinner …as I was adding it to my list of bad habits.

And I waste water too.

I take really long showers and I leave the water running in the sink when I brush my teeth.

I know it’s wrong and wasteful, but I just let that water run and run and run (and please note… I am very clean).

And finally…

I use an enormous amount of tissues in any given day.

I wad them up in my pants, stuff them in my shirt cuffs (YES…like an 80 year old woman), shove a dozen or so loose tissues into my purse, and stash tons of them in every coat pocket in my closet.

The actual possession of tissues is not by itself a bad habit…no…it’s the mixture of the used and unused pieces that causes me to sift through them all seeking the most unused one…that I’d say is the bad part of the habit.

But I don’t stop.

I’m a waster.  And a mixer.

And now I have a whole new group of pet peeves (about me this time) that I can’t stand.

I should be shot.

I think there’s a difference between “romance” and “romantic.”

To me, “romantic” refers to a moment in time.  An act that somehow conjures up visions of low lighting (candles maybe), roof top dinners (not that I’ve EVER experienced that), flowers (unexpectedly arriving with a loving note) or a presentation of a small, unmarked box with something sparkly inside (along with some low lighting and music in the background perhaps?).

It’s an expression of our love that happens at a specific time and place as in “we went out for a candlelit dinner last night and it was so romantic.”  Or…”he got me flowers every day last week”…”he’s soooo romantic.”

It’s when one person goes out of their way to set up a situation that says…”this is all about you.”  It makes us feel all warm inside with the knowledge that we’ve just been wrapped up tight in someone else’s admiration (adoration/love/wanting) of us…combining surprise, attention to detail and even ambience.

It’s romantic.

Now romance is a different thing for me all together.

It’s a process.  It happens over time.

It’s the act of being in love.    Like a constant state of being wooed, and wooing the other person, even after each has gotten comfortable with the other.

It’s about maintaining the flirt.

The blush.

The giggle.

The anticipation.

As I think back on it…I believe my parents lived a life of romance.  They believed in being in love.  Never taking each other for granted.  Keeping it fresh and alive.  Always flirting.

Don’t get me wrong…they had their ups and downs, their times when daily life overwhelmed them…but they would come out on the other side even more in love and exuding even more romance because (I think) they got through it together.

So I know it can happen.  But it’s not typical.

We usually refer to the beginning of our relationships as the time of our romance.  When we didn’t know each other well enough to take each other for granted…and were still trying to impress each other so that we could spend more time exploring one another.

That’s the exciting time.  It’s fresh.  It’s new.

But once we’ve gone through the hunt and landed our prey, we tend to let it go. (And I mean that in the most romantic way possible.)

But imagine what it would be like if we tried to maintain the romance.

If we kept up the flirt.

If we created situations where we didn’t quite know what to expect (and I’m not talking about going to a bar and pretending you don’t know each other).

If we infused a certain amount of surprise into our relationship…on an ongoing basis.

If we set up romantic moments other than just on Valentine’s Day.

IMAGINE what our long-term relationships would be like.

We might even blush with excitement like it was all fresh and new.  OY.

For me that’s romance.