Hello

I should be writing about my trip, but let’s be honest—nothing dramatic happened. We didn’t get eaten by a bear, nobody fell into the river, and the wildest thing we did was drive around on bumpy back roads and play crib. We’re boring, let’s face it.

So today, I’m going to write about old age.

When does old age start? I think it starts when you decide it does. I remember one time I came home and said, “I am so old.” Ann Baker looked at me and said, “You are not old—just wait till you get to your mom’s age.” Well, here’s the thing: I will never get to be that old because she will always be older than me.

My brother Bud likes to say he’ll never be as old as me—and he’s right.

Some mornings, I can hardly make it to the kitchen table before I have to sit down again. Other days, I can go all day without slowing down. If you’re fifty and you hurt when you walk, does that make you old? You could be twenty, run a marathon, and wake up so sore you can’t climb the stairs—does that mean you’re old at twenty?

So what makes you old?

Is it just because your body can’t do what it did twenty years ago? Maybe you should have taken better care of it when you were younger. Or maybe you did take care of it and time just caught up with you.

And just because you’ve got a lot of “back in my day” stories, does that make you old? Or does it just mean you remember things better than most?

Sure, the number of years you’ve been on this earth could make you old. But what if you’ve been here seventy years and you’re still doing the things you did at fifty? Did you act old at fifty and just keep going with it? Or did you take care of yourself and keep right on moving?

I think it’s our bodies wearing out that makes us feel old.

But here’s a thought—what if our bodies didn’t wear out? What age would you choose for yours to stay at forever? For me, too young is no good. I don’t want to be crawling around on the floor, not able to walk yet. And when I was sixteen, I thought I was short, fat, and ugly. Now I look back at the pictures and think, “Well, you weren’t fat after all.” I should have spent less time worrying and more time enjoying the good parts.

Now imagine this—you’ve got the body of a twenty-one-year-old but the brain you have right now. How would you act differently? Would you still smoke? Would you still drink?

We can’t change the past, but playing “what if” is fun. And for my younger readers, you still can change your future.

So here’s my advice: take care of the vessel you were given. It’s the only one you get. It wears out just like your car does. You can’t trade it in, so you might as well keep it in good running condition.

It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been here—today is a brand-new day. Start today. Take care of yourself. No one else can do it for you.

Wanda-ism:

“Getting old is a given—acting old is optional.”