Some Thoughts at Forty-Seven
I suppose there may come a day when I will think I'm too old. What age will that be? Fifty? Sixty-seven? Eighty-two? One hundred and five? I wonder... Because...there's a part of me that believes, if I keep moving, keep thinking, keep creating, I can be truly ageless.
They say it'll catch up to me, though I'm still not sure what "IT" is. Age? Frailty? Weakness? I can't believe it'll happen. I can't. I have to believe in the exact opposite. I have to believe that it won't, that it can't.
The mind, the brain - they get in the way. People say, "I'm twenty five. I'm too old." Then they're forty and still too old. Then sixty, then... It never ends.
I'd rather take age out the equation. Since turning forty - an age when many are packing it in - I restarted my tennis career, wrote my first short story, completed my first novel, finished my master's degree, ran four half marathons, and donated ten inches of my hair (which was by far the most difficult). What's next? I'm still working on my tennis game, I might learn to surf, and I have at least four more novels (and a couple screenplays) rattling around in my brain.
Yes, I'm often tired. So tired I've taken up reading because I have an overwhelming need to sit and do nothing. My current full-time gig at The Big Orange Box? Freight team. Eight hours a day/forty-plus hours a week, I throw freight. Overnight. Plus I play in two tennis leagues. And I try to practice at least twice a week. And write. And research my next novel(s). Yes, there are days I don't want to get out of bed. Yes, I take a lot of ibuprofen.
I've discovered that the best cure for body aches and a lack of motivation is movement. If I simply move my body and move my brain, everything I could let stop me disappears. Some days I don't want to; some days I want to be a mindless blob on the couch. Then I remember how I quit running back in my twenties - one day I didn't go and then I didn't go again for fifteen years. I don't have that kind of luxury any more. The only thing true about age is that it will catch up to you if you let it. If I stop, stagnate, hibernate, I'll get old. And I won't be able to pick it up again in fifteen years. Often this, and this alone, keeps me going.
Today, I surely wanted to stay in bed. My dog, Dylan, wouldn't have been opposed. But no, I hauled myself up, stretched my sore muscles, and tried nearly unsuccessfully to get my eyes to focus (my eyes seem to take the longest these days). I told myself if I wasn't feeling it in a half hour, I could go back to bed. I took a shower and thought about the pumpkin bread and coffee I could have at Lola Savannah's Coffee Lounge if I could get just manage to get myself there. It worked; I stayed out of bed.
Then once I got to Lola's I told myself I could just read (no, aliens have not kidnapped the real me); I didn't have to write. I guess we see how that worked out. Of course, I'm blogging, not writing-writing. I told myself that, this weekend, I would start writing down the screenplay that's been in my head for a couple weeks. Well... There's always tomorrow.
Not that I'll be any better rested after working tonight. Regardless, I'll pry myself out of bed and tell myself the same story I told myself today. Somehow, someway I'll make it happen. I always do. Mostly because I believe I can.
Moral of the story - The power of the mind powers the body and vice versa. Just move. Just think. Just do it. At forty-seven and beyond. Anything is possible. Anything.
They say it'll catch up to me, though I'm still not sure what "IT" is. Age? Frailty? Weakness? I can't believe it'll happen. I can't. I have to believe in the exact opposite. I have to believe that it won't, that it can't.
The mind, the brain - they get in the way. People say, "I'm twenty five. I'm too old." Then they're forty and still too old. Then sixty, then... It never ends.
I'd rather take age out the equation. Since turning forty - an age when many are packing it in - I restarted my tennis career, wrote my first short story, completed my first novel, finished my master's degree, ran four half marathons, and donated ten inches of my hair (which was by far the most difficult). What's next? I'm still working on my tennis game, I might learn to surf, and I have at least four more novels (and a couple screenplays) rattling around in my brain.
Yes, I'm often tired. So tired I've taken up reading because I have an overwhelming need to sit and do nothing. My current full-time gig at The Big Orange Box? Freight team. Eight hours a day/forty-plus hours a week, I throw freight. Overnight. Plus I play in two tennis leagues. And I try to practice at least twice a week. And write. And research my next novel(s). Yes, there are days I don't want to get out of bed. Yes, I take a lot of ibuprofen.
I've discovered that the best cure for body aches and a lack of motivation is movement. If I simply move my body and move my brain, everything I could let stop me disappears. Some days I don't want to; some days I want to be a mindless blob on the couch. Then I remember how I quit running back in my twenties - one day I didn't go and then I didn't go again for fifteen years. I don't have that kind of luxury any more. The only thing true about age is that it will catch up to you if you let it. If I stop, stagnate, hibernate, I'll get old. And I won't be able to pick it up again in fifteen years. Often this, and this alone, keeps me going.
Today, I surely wanted to stay in bed. My dog, Dylan, wouldn't have been opposed. But no, I hauled myself up, stretched my sore muscles, and tried nearly unsuccessfully to get my eyes to focus (my eyes seem to take the longest these days). I told myself if I wasn't feeling it in a half hour, I could go back to bed. I took a shower and thought about the pumpkin bread and coffee I could have at Lola Savannah's Coffee Lounge if I could get just manage to get myself there. It worked; I stayed out of bed.
Then once I got to Lola's I told myself I could just read (no, aliens have not kidnapped the real me); I didn't have to write. I guess we see how that worked out. Of course, I'm blogging, not writing-writing. I told myself that, this weekend, I would start writing down the screenplay that's been in my head for a couple weeks. Well... There's always tomorrow.
Not that I'll be any better rested after working tonight. Regardless, I'll pry myself out of bed and tell myself the same story I told myself today. Somehow, someway I'll make it happen. I always do. Mostly because I believe I can.
Moral of the story - The power of the mind powers the body and vice versa. Just move. Just think. Just do it. At forty-seven and beyond. Anything is possible. Anything.
Comments
Post a Comment